Hi everyone. I don't usually write rhyming poetry, and never write poetry about HP. So I'm not quite sure where it came from. But anyway, enjoy. (By the way, I am still working on A Virtue of Necessity, and I ask for your continued indulgence.)
Stumble
When he
first kisses her
He tastes
lost chances and mocking glances,
Regret and
distance not yet breached;
And she
still seems somehow out of reach
And he
still misses her.
The ghost
of the boy
Resides in
her eyes, and her heart yet lies
In his
dead grasp, arrested by a curse;
And in
that Thestral-driven hearse
She buried
her joy.
And now
when she smiles
A grimace
appears, and the promise of tears
And a
strange pain shoots in his heart.
Though by
rights they should be far apart,
He crosses
the miles.
But she is
dead-still;
Her lips
by his own neither tremble nor warm.
The
bittersweet fire in his chest
Meets
nothing but vapid distress
And a
sudden chill.
Abruptly
he sees
His love
cannot heal her, nor his vows arouse her.
He must
let go before more harm is done;
For him
she is lost, and can never be won.
He falls
to his knees.
She
stumbles away
With an
anguished stare that speaks of despair
Gasps out
loud and shakes her head
Her
shoulders stiff, her fingers spread.
He chokes
on dismay.
Her face
white and drawn,
She seems
to recognize the blankness in his eyes
And
choking out a cry of raw regret,
She
cringes from his gentle threat
And then
she is gone.
I'd really like to know what you think.