by ianblackpoet

My words intoxicate you
With a wealth of practiced ease –
Unraveling myself to
Find a purpose, and to please;
Concocting heady philters
As a shaman from the air –
Through bitter sorrow filtered
To be served to you with care.
Unfurling as a lotus
Yielding realms of hidden things –
The words are all you notice,
But a phantom pulls the strings;
The soul of every sonnet
That you whisper in your sleep,
With all laid bare upon it
As you close your eyes and weep;
The sentiment you savour
Just to know you’re not alone,
The faith that never wavers
In a line you call your own;
A slave to every letter
Penned in service to my heart,
And no one knows you better
Than the ghost behind the art.
But there is scope for wonder
While the mystery remains –
Forever cast asunder
Should a grim confession reign;
The architect of Eden
Hewn of uncelestial stuff –
My heart forever bleeding
Still would fail to be enough;
Though every waking hour
Saw me harnessing my dreams,
I fear your love would sour
As the revelation deems;
You walk within my worlds to
Hear the echoes of my pain –
My life is all around you,
But a phantom I remain.