The Beholder

My Mistress' eyes are nothing like the Sun

Though from them I see brighter

Her flesh not strong nor lush with youth

her hold not firm nor light 

 

Her presence is the wind that howls, 

on salty brine washed shore

She is such stuff in all its form,

all,

no less, no more

 

Though gentler vestiges bestowed

fall easy on the ear

My mistress' eyes cast dull by time

for me are ever clear

Anti-poet

A Child was born ►

Comments

Profile image

Wolfgar Miere

Mon 11th Jan 2016 08:20

An attempt, at least.

Profile image

Joyti

Sun 10th Jan 2016 17:12

A polite tipping of the hat to the Bard.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message