Sunday, December 21, 2008

Of Nightingales and Lover's Plights

When I was about 14 years old, I happened upon a little book that contained a collection of poems by William Blake. I read through, or rather I devoured the pages, and I realized that I had found my favorite poet. His darker poems and the fact that he was viewed as a harmless lunatic (which may seem odd) endeared him to me even more and to this day he is still one of my favorites.

Although I like to believe that I can write, I mean I get paid for it, I don't fancy myself a poet. I am much happier meandering through a paragraph than stressing over a stanza. I would rather draw a picture with words than have a few lines to illustrate my point. Still, I get the occasional inspiration for a poem and I will jot them down. Most of them remain completely and utterly secretive and not even my husband gets to experience any of my poems but a few make their way out into the spotlight and I haven't been boo'ed off a stage yet. (Not that I have been on a stage.)

Tonight I thought it would be nice to post two poems that I wrote a few years ago. Feel free to post what you think.
by Sirena Van Schaik

It whispers in the starless night,
As nightingales take to flight.
The moonlight echoes between the leaves,
My love lost in the breeze.

The sadness that has become my bed,
Is stained with tears where I lay my head.
And I wish for the morning sun,
For the happiness that will never come.

Telling secrets of my lover's hate,
The night whispers of my fate.
And the nightingales sing with voices clear,
Lamenting the funeral I no longer fear.

And the second one:

Lover's Plight
by Sirena Van Schaik

I found my lover by the stream,
And I knew right then he was my dream.
But my lover has no need of me,
Of my love he wants to be free.

I have searched for him all my life,
And for what do I have but a soul of strife.
But my love does not love me back,
In me, something he did see lack.

The secret kisses that he stole,
Are painful memories of a fool.
Now this dagger has found its rest,
Within my broken heart and chest.

And on the ground I lie so still,
My lover's life I no longer live to fill.
May my lover find me dead,
And my grief be his instead.

That I carried both day and night,
Because my lover gave me not but spite.
As I breathe my last deep sigh,
I wish my love did not die.

Have a great night.


No comments: