A bloody red on a ledger that I’ve been!
A life worth less than a pence and a ten!
Am I, like all, just a number–dead;
A figure / figurine with living head?
**********************************
There’s no difference between Lives of Men:
All go for bread, some for milk, some for wine,
Yet, in a blink, us and dust are entwined!
It was the clearest, bluest sky
When I saw a balloon– white–
Ever slowly drifting by
Could a lad have lost
A gift from his mum;
Or a gentlemen’s care
Forgot to tie it down?
I know someon’e teared a cry
somewhere for that balloon
And it still drifted on and on
To the bluest, clearest sky.
That night was of the coldest winter night
When I woke from my slumber to see her
My love, of foreign-sent, in a window,
beyond my street, under the icy glow.
So I, a Romeo, went to have her
Bracing Nature’s protest to her fortress
And at it’s foot, I espied a crevice,
Surrendering everything to impress
(Were those destiny’s ploy against my hour?)
Yet, like Shakespeare’s hero, I climbed her tower
And as my father teared when I was made,
My heart thumped loudly that I’ll be remade;
But when I held her hand, confessed my all,
I’m met by a stare to the night’s snow fall.
C’est la vie.
Nigh was the night, this one of saddest days
When this figure–Sihouette–entwined my way.
The Sky, sanguine, with the Sun’s losing fight
Held a sight of so heavenly delight:
Waltzing atop a forlorn hill alone
A Thumbelina, in her steps, shone;
And in her dance, I found my feet had flown
With hands, hips, bones, a beating heart gone!
This maiden, so delicately divine,
captured, enslaved visions of this mind!
Oh, diamond so polished of God’s make,
How could fate sin such terrible mistake–
When the moon howled mad that darkness was nigh,
That I lost her dance, my saddest of nights.
