Thread: The sky of home

This closest, sweetest dark
where swans the wavering joy,
long lost to fragile splinters
dreams of a young, deluded man
washed hither by a failing breeze.
Sat silent on the shore of home,
knotting fingers with the ghostly
countenance burning bright and fair
and chill as death.

Awakes the storyteller and,
yes, a star at last
upon the crushing weight of heaven
that true light flourishes
and rains down as new cut facets.
Sharp, but welcome in senseless flesh.
Drink we deep ‘ere clouds surpass
the whispered beating, singing still
of that forgotten, never lost.

A dream indeed,
but wondrous
and whole where only broken
tingled desires of finished things.
To fall and not to fly.
smiling ever at the thought
that still and calm,
wrapped about with loving arms,
hold here amid the night
a transient joy
without regret.

Wow I like it, paints a picture it dose! I myself am new to poetry somewhat so I don't see anything I can critique, for it is better then I can accomplish hehe all I can say is I feel like I'm watching the stars when I read this