Poems by K. Stan Tinos

Once within a midnight dreary, cloaked in shadows, cold and weary,
Wandered I through halls long buried, bound by guilt and nothing more.
Phantom whispers, gently calling, through the darkened chambers crawling,
Echoed tales of hearts appalling, haunt my soul forevermore-

By the marble bust, a raven, black as night and none forgiven,
Perched and watched me with damnation, fixed upon my chamber door.
"Foolish poet," spoke the specter, mocking as my sins did fester,
"All you've touched is lost and shattered, love shall bloom for you no more-"

In the cold and flickering fire, shadows dance in dark desire,
Pale-faced maidens, grieving, weeping, mourned the past I'd left deceiving,
In their hearts, my crimes still weaving; love replaced by pain once more.
Cursed am I, their haunting voices echo through my soul's deep core-

Time stood still, its toll unspoken, time stood still, my will lay broken,
Bound to chambers dark and frozen, yearning for what came before.
Roses wilted, crimson bleeding, withered dreams in silence pleading,
Yet the raven, never heeding, watched me with a gaze that tore-

Now I wander, spirit shattered, lost the one who truly mattered,
Through the halls where shadows scattered, haunted by my sins of yore.
Every step is weighed with sorrow; no redemption, no tomorrow,
Just the raven's coldest hollow: "Love shall bloom for you no more-

I wander lonely where the trees
Stand tall with hearts of stone; their shadows creep
Across the dampened earth. My weary knees
Bear weight of years, each step etches deep
Swoons upon the grass, through twilight halls,
Like cathedral aisles, I move without reprieve.
The mockingbird from barren branches calls,
While skylarks sing their hymn to darkened skies.
Though spring returns, hope's voice to silence falls;
A hollow pleading wind that moans and dies.
Where summer light once drenched the meadow's face,
Now poppies weep, and leafless forests sigh.
My voice, a shattered chalice, spills its grace
Of bitter prayers the wind will never hear.
"O lovers lost at mercy's gate,
O robin, sing! Hope, persevere!"
I call, yet the hollowness won't abate.
No solace warms from winter's hearth; its chill,
A deceptive flicker, bewails the blighted ground,
The sterile dream-seeds in the frozen field.
Fate, by what bleak star? What forfeit has been found?
What invisible chain holds this soul bound?
What potion, oath, what storm that cast its die?
No whisper of forgiveness stirs this stagnant pond.
No gentle breezes stir the unyielding sky;
Only these arms that, empty, grasp the air,
Embracing shades that only memory claimed,
The ghost of warmth, the form once cherished there,
A touch now ash... irreparably maimed.