Under the harvest moon's soft glow,
A golden tear upon the field,
Memories bloom, like seeds we sow,
Of love once held, emotions sealed.
Whispers of laughter on the breeze,
A hand in hand, beneath the stars,
Your voice, a song that brings me peace,
Though echoed now from distant spars.
The fields stand still, a silent plea,
For seasons past, the joy we knew,
The orchard's bounty, bittersweet,
A harvest moon, a poignant hue.
The leaves descend, in graceful dance,
A fiery waltz, a crimson rain,
Like burning embers, given chance,
To rise again, to bloom again.
And though the moon may wane and wane,
And shadows lengthen, day by day,
Your love remains, a gentle flame,
To guide me on, to light my way.
About the Creator
Buzu
Verses sculpted from the heart, I'm a poet navigating emotions with ink-stained fingertips. Crafting tales that dance between reality and dreams, my words paint a symphony of feelings in the canvas of life. 📜✨ #PoetLife #Wordsmith
The Road to Nowhere
Trigger warnings: Violence, Death. "May the Sun burn your tongue out, woman," Fredrick's father screamed the curse into his mother's ear as their elegant little carriage rumbled along, its polished wood and gilded trim glinting in the torchlight. They had just left the small village of Saffron and were on an unnamed road to the capital for the Royal wedding. Fredrick leaned back in his plush velvet seat to escape into the passing landscape, but across from him sat the servant boy, a scrappy lad named Jack. Jack's eyes held a mixture of awe and fear, the kind that only a commoner could feel in the presence of nobility. Jack looked up and caught Fredrick's gaze, offering him a sad little smile before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a little caramel treat. This candy was no doubt stolen from the kitchen treat cupboard; if he was caught with it, he would be locked in the box as punishment.
By Frank English7 days ago in Fiction
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