Shall I Speak

Shall I speak now of a colored rose
or flowers melded in full bloom
in a valley whence the cool breeze flows
in a soft embrace for the languorous releasing
of the untamed essence of Nature's perfume?

Rather, I would of my sweet sorrow sing.


Shall I then reminisce of days now past;
echoes of then, when to be was enough,
as time stood still but the moment would never last;
of a soul warmed in the radiance of bliss,
a grasping of that which dreams are made of?

All memory is in that parting kiss.


Shall I hope for Hyperion to rise again,
will he break the darkness with his chariot alight;
should I attempt to steal, to the God's chagrin,
that spark that sets my world on fire
breaking the fear of my ever-midnight?

What hope is there in mortal desire.