Embers Of A Saharan Day

Pardon the ashes of one once violet,
I the shriveled fruit from the odd,
though from birth twas my soul unlit
until undone shalt I burn for a god.
Entreat thee O watchful, I the faded
turn from a parched branch now perched
upon the dangling vine of the braided
lifeless hope midst eternal scorched!
Lest I deign to feign the breathing
lest I pain the promise of grey,
embrace the sun with which is fleeting
I the embers of a Saharan day.
With which I fold my bristling soul
to thee I forth placeth cajoled,
pardon the remnants of one once whole
I the cinder of infernos cold.

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21 thoughts on “Embers Of A Saharan Day

  1. I checked the comments to see if this was somehow an Alexander Pope poem I’d not read yet… your language is archaic, but eloquent and the words well-chosen… I’ll be reading more often, thank you for the poem!

    1. To be compared to Mr. Pope is an honor in itself, I thank you for paying such a compliment. You should know that you are welcome here always and forever. Thank you for visiting.

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