Lyre

When distance grew
I tried to strain
My eyes
The silhouette of you
I spied
Until I couldn’t crane
My neck another inch to view
The places that so heavenly you flew

With letters sent
I’d so remain
Inside
A well, my water spent
Of pride
A fracture on a plane
Of glass that I had never meant
To break, but then, for you, my will was bent

By sonnets sung
That pierced my heart
And died
For every note that stung
I tried
To be your golden harp
And give my love as wire strung
But gave you notes unworthy of your tongue

© A.P. Christopher 2018


For The Literati Mafia Sunday Prompt: Crane, Plane, Harp


Read more at constant VARIABLE

Image Credits: Paolo da San Leocadio

6 Comments Add yours

  1. bluerooster says:

    Yes. Very nicely crafted!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m always so impressed by your rhyming skills. Very well done!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.