This is an older poem, but i still like it. Written when I started exploring my love for the written word

"Night So Warm, Yet I Shiver"

The star lit night does shine,as one doth creep silently.
Bated breath warms a frozen neck,
and cold hands reach to see.
Tremors wrack a fragile body,
while soft words whispered go unheard.
A farewell spoken in elegance,
voice cracking it’s so unsure...
An epitaph written for tomorrow,
tombstone over an empty grave.
Dark epithet spoken and hate is sown,
a harsh reminder of yesterday.
Again come the tremors and warm breath-
last dregs of strength gone.
So inviting death has called,
those words spoken shadow even the sun...
E'er shall we remain in the dark,
shivering in heat I write this art.
Time hath come to play our parts,
and yet we don't heed our call...
As my meaning is still unclear,
perhaps I must do my best with this exposition.
If brevity is the soul of wit,
then this writing is witless...
You've not spoken it yet,
the reason for my duress...
You will do it,
of this I'm sure...
On a night so warm,
cold words to make me shiver