Not once, no, not a day-
nor an hour.
Not even a moment passes by
when my soul's eyes do not conjure up before me
your spirit-warming presence.
I behold your beaming countenance,
simple, yet radiant like the morning sun
at dawn. I smile towards you,
but as our eyes lock longingly
your figure dissipates like the mist from air.
Alas, my heart looks upon you each moment
of each day, with such fondness.
Yet I am unable to speak forth but a single word
and then I will try to forget you
and isolate myself in solitude
Here I am, lying still with my back turned
as everything rushes around without even noticing me,
like a tiny isle protruding forth
in the midst of a swollen city.
But then, from the corner of my eye,
I catch sight of you descending
like a dove in all its simple majesty.
And you will descend upon me, and only me,
seeking warm solace.
And we will be together at last.
I will be the island, and you will be my castaway.
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Comments about this poem (Not Once by Edward Owen )
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