A. Christine Myers
1 min readNov 22, 2019
Photo by Artur Rutkowski on Unsplash

I’ve loved so many things and known so few.
My heart beats silence of the trackless mists,
The earth-begotten wanderers that weep
Against the coming night; no tears are heard,
But all the sorrows that the day has known
Rise voiceless into midnight. So my heart
Goes silent, sightless through the strangling hours
To loose its pain into the patient sky.
No tongue has found a language for that grief:
An absence of the music that life makes
Upon a summer morning, to a heart
That knows sweet memories, and sings
Of many more, of bright and eager days,
And lullabies of peaceful gentle sleep.
That music never sounded, and I know
The forlorn mist that rises from my drought
Of memories: things never brought to life,
Sweet ghosts of mine, undead because unborn;
Their music ever voiceless, and their souls
Unwinged; on tears I never shed they rise
And, empty, go into my empty night.