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The acrid smell of a summer’s night;
it brings memories and sadness,
mostly the latter, a darkness
formed at the threshold of light.

I stare at your picture for hours,
revisiting memories washed in black
as if by recall I could dredge them back,
those sweet moments of ours.
I much recall the doubt in your eye,
and it brings a light smile to my face,
for I wonder: If I was in your place,
would I overcome doubt or would I shy?

Such questions are best left alone
in the closets within our mind.
I’ll admit though, I do fall behind,
At times, when the night is deep and grown,
My mind pictures how we’d osculate,
upon my bed, or surrounded by thorns,
it is then that time shows his horns,
and laughs at me, slow and deliberate.

How I long for your hasty return,
the acrid smell of summer does naught to lessen that thirst,
odd, you have become my last thought and my first,
a passion for which I must yearn.

All not saved will be lost.

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The following comments are for "A passion for which I must yearn"
by Siah

Welcome back, Siah! I love how this poem is in sentences but still rhymes like enjambed lyrics. And the passion expressed reaches the soul of the reader: that is what I call an Ars poem.


( Posted by: ArsPoet2789ica [Member] On: September 12, 2007 )

Thanks for the welcome back. I've moved to Europe (meaning I get to use the internet all the time woooohooo) and now I shall be writing fulltime again. It'll be nice reading your poetry as well.

( Posted by: Siah [Member] On: September 12, 2007 )

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