The Romance

Let me be your fire.
When passions grow cold
whose faces stare with despair,
I will warm your senses
like colors of new-born spring
from sweet buds blossoming in air-
or song from the nightingale's romance-
to dreams oozing from your still eyes
before dark night is dead.

Shifting shadows, lost loves appear.
How they tease the mind,
impale a fragile heart.
But I your jinni-
as ubiquitous gods saved ancient day,
shall cloak you in the mysteries of my might
and by my duty keep
vigil at your side
until omninous night is safe.

Make me your harp,
even as the ocean sighs.
What if my waves are crashing
like its own?
The passion of our tone will wash
harmonies so sweet upon the shore
that lost stars be seen
and forsaken winds wail no more.

The seas of gloom,
dark antipathies flee,
and love reborn
out of the dying eve.

Copyright 2009 Francis Don Daniels