“But flowers distill’d, though they with winter meet,

Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.”

~ William Shakespeare (Sonnet 5)

my Love, while pent in dark and hollowed halls

away and far beyond our blended verse~

where sullen glares demand a silenced quill

instead of beauty, scrawling speech so terse;

an essence lost is not an option, Love

of yours nor mine, unspoken words assure

a comfort find and garner strength in troves,

for none removes our vested dreams of more.

essential truths within our hearts incite,

inspiring whispers, casting doubt aside.

a purer sweetness wafts and reaches you,

for tested love surpasses love untried.

          a silence lingers over pages shorn

          but none touches words of quintessence borne