The Prisoner
Beneath the moon's unworldly glow,
Near the tombs where shadows grow,
A tall dark man with heart of woe,
Kneels by a grave, his tears now flow.
Beside the tombstone, a weeping form,
She too sits a life to mourn
Angered still her troubled storm,
For a love once vibrant lays forlorn.
He the lover forever missed,
In cold marble his name is etched.
Whispers longing, his grief endures,
A mournful tale throughout the years.
His sorry words the silence breaks.
"I miss you still," he softly speaks,
A spirit presence, love forsakes,
As the night in mournful quiet takes.
"I've lingered, Samuel, in this abyss,
The pain of parting, your ghostly kiss.
Lovers’ chains, an eternal twist,
In a lonely realm where time persists.”
He wavers now, disbelief takes hold,
For she is here, a dream unfolds.
A hand, ethereal, in forgiveness, bold,
Through veils of sorrow, their tale is told.
"I never meant you harm" he pleads,
His hand through hers as it recedes
Words unspoken, like dormant seeds,
In the crying graves where ghosts do feed
"Forgive me, Eleanor, I beg you please”
The cursed lover falls to his knees
Her fire of love burned through his heart
Twas him who plays the spectral’s part
A chill coursed through, as their hands entwined,
In the moonlit graveyard, so divine.
"I love you, Eleanor," a whispered whine,
A moment shared in the night's confine.
The mist retreats, the dawn holds sway.
As his ghostly figure fades away,
Lovers lost in the moon’s display,
For she is the prisoner of the day.
©2023 Sarnia de la Mare
