Solitude in the Clouds
I know but a dream, yet feel more anguish,
thicker than rain-drops on overwinter thorns.
A broken friendship, a farewell languish,
A tomb where a nightingale’s cry mourns—
a child’s evening prayer, soft and tender,
that drifts through the air a daydream ruin,
as absence lingers, a ghostly sender,
shadowed beneath the full mad moon.
The tropic tree, itself a wood,
Sways heavy with its weight of fears.
A mathematical problem stood—
A sum of sorrow through the years.
Come, come, thou bleak wintertime wind,
Whisper to those in solitude.
Opaque Love, once warm and kind,
Utters emotions in quietude.
Frost at midnight binds my breath,
As home-sick hearts to duty yield.
Yet fire, famine, slaughter, death—
Still burn upon the war-torn field.
Forbearance speaks in mournful sighs,
As fears in solitude remain.
Dejection, desire, despair arise,
Like ice-melt mists before the rain.
A fountain on a heath stands still,
Etched with words long left unsaid—
An ideal object, lost at will,
A dream once bright, now cold and dead.
WoPoLi 
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