[Newspoetry] It ain't over until she sings (again)

[DL Emerick]

Do not into lone long darkness go,

not with eyes blinded by daylight,

not with a heart bound to its past,

in thinking of him, thinking of him.

 

Stars overhead shine true enough

If your eyes do not fail and fall

To ground, and pull the lids tight,

Admitting no any more after him.

 

She sighed, and wiped her eyes,

Lest tears well up, tracing pain

As tracks down made-up cheeks,

Powdered perfect beauty skein,

Her artifice of blush so strained,

Hints of reddened lips betrayed:

Haunts scare mascaras, scarred.

 

"He is no more and that's enough

To know when he's never to be,

Not why he's gone nor become

Some stranger invisible to me,"

So she spoke to her past, gone,

As passing us on, it always goes.

 

Yet did heart turn over leaves,

Like pages in an unending book,

Where conclusions aren't stated,

Or a book so rated as finished

When it closes ever so silently.

 

Her laughter laughed after her,

And was dismissed, frowned on,

Her gaiety, too, was sent away,

She had no time for me nor you,

Nor anyone to come to her cave,

Grave as it was, this loss to her.

 

What a loss was her heart to her,

Beating against its chamber walls,

Protesting against so silent death,

Time, tempo fleeing, in tiny steps.

 

Her ears could hear that pounding,

At life, forgery still hotly glowing,

Where anvil anchors all whispers,

Hissing when an irony is hardened.

 

Envoi, renvoi, french kiss moi dix mois,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04pgejKIgO8 vois.

She pretended to culture her pearls,

Draped around her neck, pendantly,

Draped to emphatic for neck rising,

Arching trunk of elegantly held head,

Higher than welling mountain slopes,

Ranging below her chin: her breasts,

Whose curves wind on down, flare

Wilder than her heart, wilderness,

For hips who cheer, hoorays hoorahs,

Butts jeering so haughty, tauntingly.

 

Her past was past such paste she had,

Pastry was her delight, not starlight.

 

Yet her heart beat as fast as mine,

And yet did it beat me, beast to me

As one who could might not share her, Not her unsparking darkness, wanting.

 

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