David William Paley
The spark that flamed has flared and flown;
Memory is all that I have left.
Now, all the world is mine to roam
But of my life, I am bereft.
No longer, do the roses sway
In winds that fanned your cheeks
Or sing the words I heard you say
When, now, it is the gale that speaks.
Is there yet no world beyond
Where I can find reward
When all is lost to fortune's wand
That was no sceptre but a sword?
There is no heart without its storm,
Nor soul that has no fever,
No vow that does not form
A lasting bond in its believer.
There is no cheek that does not glow
Beneath admiring gaze
Or breeze that does not blow
Without recall of former days.
There is no love that, once begotten,
Though drawn through death's dark maze,
Can ever die or be forgotten
When thoughts are there to part the haze.
I live in dreams and wake distraught,
To look at streams as last resort
But see a face much like my own
And not the joys that I have known.
Riches strewn on muddy bed
From silent depths resound
Where wisps of golden thread
And silver locks are drowned.
No tapestry may here be found
To match my sole remembrance
Of the weft in which we bound
The whole of life's abundance.
Let visions of that bright terrain
Bring me back illusion.
Let me live the past again
Immersed in my delusion.
Come back to me in softest night;
Return, once more, to great elation.
Be with me through my times of blight
Where I may sing a great ovation
To the shade of fondest recollection
That nought can tear asunder
Or remove from introspection-
Unless it be my lover's plunder.
© David William Paley