my love; a star who shines only for day?
I’m called Lukul Selavy. People often pronounce this weirdly. I am sixteen, I especially like the french symbolist poets. This poem is my first, and so this submission is not due to arrogance but due to hope. I hope it is liked.p.s. the subtitle is not irrelevant and is interconnected with the poem, as the subtitle’s logic (or illogic) would be with any poem of an emotional sort.
Fate’s guiding star seems dimmed
(41
lines – 5 quintains – 2 quatrains – 2 tercets – 1 couplet – Hope – Hope of love – she’s called Maybe)
the girl, that daydream gazes find, i call: Maybe
(lest she is explained as: imaginary).
like a petulant child that tugs on coattails,
presentiments of her urge me, stubbornly
yearning;
but, always at heart sadness prevails.
my love; a star who shines only for day?
a dove with feathers going grey?
a
song for nobody?
summer night rolls onto her belly her shape
lies star-traced by astral veils from which escapes
cosmic rain yes heaven’s flecked constellation
glazed on my window sultry night her arched nape
her
raised chin Fate’s girl of imagination!
outside of my window i see
rose garden roseate coloured
at last, from the earth they tug free
Slowly
they start to fall upward
Future knows how Present swoons for what may be
so smooth sheets make jagged peaks over my knee
and moonlight cascades into these spectral deeps
wind whispers through blooms yes voices sing for me!
but
hope wilts; mountains tilt; oceans drain; songs sleep.
shall
i discover love as the newborn discovers colours?
or
be without?
who can love fleshless hope? a vile thief space is.
such evil air, there instead of embraces.
heart – stop your beat. until to her it wakes,
‘till we cross in life’s web of times and places.
soul;
to bed. sleep could fill the void waiting makes.
see the full moon incandescent,
slowly growing the night’s black skin,
and so makes the moon a crescent
stretching
into a jeering grin
can you hear? can you? Fate’s guiding star seems dimmed.
Future’s love, my star… this prayer’s not speech mark “winged”.
my life’s enjambment untangles through despair
and hope. always my pulse is . caesura pinned;
with
hope, despair! and foul runes, wrought for thin air.
my love; a star who shines only for day?
a dove with feathers going grey?
a song for nobody.
Lukul Selavy
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