[CW: Poetry and Feedback] Poem Pairs

[Noir]

Just a bunch of sonnets before bed. I am rinky-dink when it comes to literature, but eh. Hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated.

The Promise of the Winds

An eternity she dreamt of them there

Under the evening sunshine

The rain of dandelions

The pleasant scent of irises

Alone, the two of them, all in perfect align

The gusts of the spring enveloped them;

And his eyes oathed to her: “I shall return, no more wars.”

His hands vowed to her: “My heart and soul, forever yours.”

His heart promised her: “Your sadness but a story read,”

His lips reassured her: “For when I return, no more tears shall you shed,”

And a ring he slipped on her finger: “We meet here again, and we shall be wed.”

T’was long since their oath, till come that fateful day

With the petals of the flora at the winds, asway

Veiled and in white she was, tranquil, in wait

For their reunion, and the love they should share, in spate.

The sky’s orange draped itself black

Yet to come he was, inside, her heart began to crack

A tear she shed, and a whisper she heard

She wondered; was she haunted or assured?

She felt him, she heard him – but yet, why was he not there?

What should she have felt at the sound – happiness, or despair?

Her emotions, her tears – sorrow or joy?

An allusion amidst her confusion

Or the winds at her feelings, the truth but its mischievous ploy?

Contrition

They say the only time you crave for fruits

Is when the trees meet their end.

They say the only time you complain of your money

Is when you no longer have any to spend.

They say the only time you wish for your youth

Is when it passes, ending, without avail.

They say the only time you wish for you wish for another chance

Is when you lose your last; when you meet yourself a fail.

Do you permit your contrition

To take over you, amidst your confusion?

Do you give in to your remorse

And lose the winning play in your court?

Do you succumb to your sorrow

To cease oneself, releasing your tomorrow?

Do you allow yourself to rue

And bid all else with but a simple adieu?

A blossom you find, but lose its fragrance.

"Regret", you subtly utter;

Yet at a time it became your happy substance

Why render it asunder?

What stays in your reminiscence

Will be your growing essence.

The seven coloured bridge in a salubrious sky

It needed the rain for its beauty so high

And to your qualms that bother you so

To contrite is to ruin; learn, and let them go.