After Me.

You loved me as a woman would,
Loved me as you understood,
That I am yours when the night is old,
For in day my darkness thou cannot behold.

Lay there now,
And dream of me,
Of a world,
Where you can see,
My face in the onyx sky,
Stars for eyes,
That never cry.

I hope no one,
Can hold your hand,
The way I do,
Warm fingers,
Veins aligned,
Blue on blue.

But soon shall age, this wine,
When you will slowly find,
That this dull ache of mine,
No longer keeps you alive,
Then, beloved, do seek,
A hand that you can keep,
Through laughing thick and weeping thin,
White in blessing, red in sin,
Which knows, every edge of your face,
Every grain of your lips,
Every contour of your curves,
From thighs to fingertips.

For only then would I permit,
This poem to end,
Only then would I ask,
This poet to lend, me,
A pause of his prose,
So I can fill it with my breath,
And gift you,
This lullaby of ours;
To thy ever after
My Forever Yours.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

2 thoughts on “After Me.”

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