poetry

You are a reckless one, free in the wind

No stuffy libraries, no confining buildings for you

You are an adventurous one, since you were but a kid

Nothing but the open plains, nothing but the gaping seas

The cold, oh! The cold, it bites
All around me and in my young heart
Chill me, burn me, break me, take me
The sorrow runs deep as the frosty waves below, pounding and harsh.

Alone, so cold and alone. 
Bitter winds sweep around my thin skirt, I am a glacial stone
Yet, in the apathies of this curse, I sense one thing
The rough yet warm cloth wraps around me

Do the stars still dance on the foam capped waves?

On glittering shores, do children yet misbehave?

Throwing sand and jewel into the air with joy?

The western wind does not a word say,

Of the Falmari, of Alqualondë.

The shore is cold here, the stars are dim.

Here the weariness of elven spirits worn thin,

Coaxes many to fly to ships and sail to the West.

Slowly dwindling, the number who so depart,

Hope to find peace for a sorrowed heart.

Should I seed ruin or shoulder  it?

Should I seek pain or smoulder it?

Should I despair and drown in   grief?

By thine uncaring gaze ignore the winter weeping. Dreading.

By thine unspoken word observe the venom seeping. Spreading.

Do you think of me

When a drop of rain, like a lonely tear, falls?

I think of you

When in a storm, the rumbling thunder calls. 

Do you think of me

When you lie awake as your fears, you try to subdue?

I think of you;

I wish you were here.

​​​​​​I wish I was enough.

I wish I could stop wishing,

But that's a part of love.  

I wish I could hold you.

I'd keep you so near.

I wish I could stop wishing

While I drown in fear.