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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Friday, October 31, 2014

Sonnet For a Nightingale

source
I thought I heard the nightingale again
But it was only wind under the eave
I doubt that this cruel night will ever end
Should morning come, will it bring a reprieve?

You didn't leave a message, didn't phone
Your absence rings so loudly I can't hear
The night's the hardest time to be alone
But if I must, be kind and make that clear

If blinded to reality, deceit
may force a nightingale to sing all day
But hear the bitterness within the sweet
Its sorrow the false notes do not allay

You keep me in the dark with silent lies
I sing for you through tears and blinded eyes.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration, Nightingale