Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry



I whist in solitude and quiet spell, pondering
love that stranger who dare not dwell in my
presence, chased or vilified, neither counts as
love taunts and jeers, but does not remain and stay

I whist in the quiet of my room, this verse I’d send
to you with garland flowers wreathing your fair
head in beauty, lust to dust and ashes to follow
our sad affair, but it never was, my love

my love that never was, has no name or place
resides in wishes, heartbeats felt sacred in
that quiet moment when fear and chaos feel
from darkness when the sun bursts forth with
morning light and distills those qualms and
reassures that love, though a treasure is not
as I had hoped, the beginning, middle and end
of all that I desire


2 thoughts on “Wishing

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