The Yearning Star

Say what of these verses, whether they be clever or raw

In the end they’re just words, limited and ill formed

For what escapes these lips in the shape of a moan or a soft prayer of sorts

Mixes with the wind, and the scents of a season long since gone

They tantalize the air, in a way, no word of meaning could ever hope

And escape in the night sky, among the stars and the eerie cold

And were I to say your name, in between the ragged breaths I draw

Mayhaps the universe will pause, to hear its lasting hum

And etch it among the constellations, it shall

Not your name, but the yearn that laced it

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