ValkyrieRaven88
New Member
I dreamt I heard the nightingale sing on the evening air,
Of places lost and far away and wonders she’d seen there:
Of buildings carved as by God’s hand and stretching to the sky;
Of valleys green, and deserts bare, and deep blue waters wide;
Of mountain peaks with snowy caps that touch the heaven’s face;
Dark forests overgrown with life and bathed in Luna’s rays.
She carries enchanting tales to me of heroes now long-dead.
They’re gone; their spirits carry on with every word she says.
Her fragile, fleeing melodies have lingered in my mind,
And through the day I’m haunted by those things I wish to find.
How oft I sit reflecting that she carried me such tales,
When she could spend each second discovering more above the gales.
I trembled then imagining the wonders I could know
If e’er I dared to follow her and travel where she goes.
I’ve never seen the nightingale; perhaps she never was
More than a brief illusion, not a thing of flesh and blood.
But still the bird’s inspired me to take the path unfurled.
I’ll travel that clandestine path to the ends of the world.
So I sought out the nightingale in places she’d described.
I traveled far across the earth, its waters, and its skies.
I found her at the pyramids, stargazing with the Sphinx.
I knew her in an instant—she was my missing link.
Her feathers inky black as night, the plumage rich and full.
Eyes full of knowledge of the world, and I could feel their pull.
“I heard your song upon the night and answered to your call.
I’ve followed you to ask you why you’d call on me at all.
I’ve touched the sky and sailed the sea, marched deserts scorched with sun,
Trekked mountains high and valleys low, searched woods before the dawn.
I know I’m just a mortal and you must be something more,
So understand why I must ask the things I’m longing for.”
“You need not tell me why you’ve searched,” the nightingale replied.
“I’d hoped so long someone would hear, though centuries have died.
I’ve sung throughout the ages for someone to see such sights,
But no such mix of knight and child has heard me on those nights.
I’d hoped that I’d inspire one to love what I have loved,
As I have seen the whole world wide from the heavens above.”
“What makes me different?” I cried out, flinching in the bird’s stare.
“I’ve traveled lonely on this path; there’s no one else to care.”
“Because, my dear, you are unique. Of all to whom I’ve sung,
You are the first to meet me here…and now my work is done.
You’ve traveled this far on your own because no other man,
Could find the strength to last the days and travel like you can.”
We sat together ‘neath the stars, mortal and angel-guide,
Until there came the moment when we whispered our good-byes.
“I’ll be with you, my warrior-child,” she whispered in my ear.
“You won’t believe, perhaps, or you will think I’ve disappeared.”
Then my eyes opened to golden light through the window of my room.
But lying on the pillow was a single ink-black plume.
I dreamt I heard the nightingale; it was more than a dream.
I learned that tales of things long-gone are worth more than they seem.
I'm very happy with the way this poem turned out, although I think the last line is a little weak. I'm open to criticism, of course. I thank you in advance!
I know nightingales aren't black, but I'm kind of pretending for what the color represents to me. Just so no one thinks I'm stupid or something...
Of places lost and far away and wonders she’d seen there:
Of buildings carved as by God’s hand and stretching to the sky;
Of valleys green, and deserts bare, and deep blue waters wide;
Of mountain peaks with snowy caps that touch the heaven’s face;
Dark forests overgrown with life and bathed in Luna’s rays.
She carries enchanting tales to me of heroes now long-dead.
They’re gone; their spirits carry on with every word she says.
Her fragile, fleeing melodies have lingered in my mind,
And through the day I’m haunted by those things I wish to find.
How oft I sit reflecting that she carried me such tales,
When she could spend each second discovering more above the gales.
I trembled then imagining the wonders I could know
If e’er I dared to follow her and travel where she goes.
I’ve never seen the nightingale; perhaps she never was
More than a brief illusion, not a thing of flesh and blood.
But still the bird’s inspired me to take the path unfurled.
I’ll travel that clandestine path to the ends of the world.
So I sought out the nightingale in places she’d described.
I traveled far across the earth, its waters, and its skies.
I found her at the pyramids, stargazing with the Sphinx.
I knew her in an instant—she was my missing link.
Her feathers inky black as night, the plumage rich and full.
Eyes full of knowledge of the world, and I could feel their pull.
“I heard your song upon the night and answered to your call.
I’ve followed you to ask you why you’d call on me at all.
I’ve touched the sky and sailed the sea, marched deserts scorched with sun,
Trekked mountains high and valleys low, searched woods before the dawn.
I know I’m just a mortal and you must be something more,
So understand why I must ask the things I’m longing for.”
“You need not tell me why you’ve searched,” the nightingale replied.
“I’d hoped so long someone would hear, though centuries have died.
I’ve sung throughout the ages for someone to see such sights,
But no such mix of knight and child has heard me on those nights.
I’d hoped that I’d inspire one to love what I have loved,
As I have seen the whole world wide from the heavens above.”
“What makes me different?” I cried out, flinching in the bird’s stare.
“I’ve traveled lonely on this path; there’s no one else to care.”
“Because, my dear, you are unique. Of all to whom I’ve sung,
You are the first to meet me here…and now my work is done.
You’ve traveled this far on your own because no other man,
Could find the strength to last the days and travel like you can.”
We sat together ‘neath the stars, mortal and angel-guide,
Until there came the moment when we whispered our good-byes.
“I’ll be with you, my warrior-child,” she whispered in my ear.
“You won’t believe, perhaps, or you will think I’ve disappeared.”
Then my eyes opened to golden light through the window of my room.
But lying on the pillow was a single ink-black plume.
I dreamt I heard the nightingale; it was more than a dream.
I learned that tales of things long-gone are worth more than they seem.
I'm very happy with the way this poem turned out, although I think the last line is a little weak. I'm open to criticism, of course. I thank you in advance!
I know nightingales aren't black, but I'm kind of pretending for what the color represents to me. Just so no one thinks I'm stupid or something...
