Random Musings of a Chocoholic
Posted: Sat Mar 15, 2008 10:56 am
Petra's Song
How did we get here?
The turn of seasons and twist of age alarm the once-empty heart,
now filled with the ache of hopeless longing.
So short the time, yet so deep the love,
the spiteful cut from guilt's accusing knife will scar and remain,
the memory of such blissful pain her companion long after he is gone.
So lost and foolish - is this to be her song?
No more love, no laughter, no passion, no energy for him;
No yearning, no anger, no lust, no bitter thoughts of futures denied.
No crumpled dreams shown up for their pointlessness beneath the glare of her own mockery.
Is she the fool? Is this her song?
When first he loved her - true - eyes filled with tears of breathless delight at such emotion,
its naked power so explosive beneath the serenity of duty.
This freedom, this safety,
this graceful dance of love and beauty,
of friendship, trust and secrets shared,
desires and daydreams of life among the stars and shadows,
his calm and quiet brilliance illuminating the darkest corners of her confusion.
To follow him, protect him, obey him, to guide him - to worship him, even;
The glad acceptance of her place in his life both honest and bewildering.
But she knew, as she always had...
So now the tears that fall are sad, resigned;
That vicious knife once more rips into her lonely soul,
and now she sees the bloodied wounds so clearly,
the mocking face inside the mirror, its twisted grin and cruel finger pointing,
its hands reaching, scratching, tearing at a tortured heart so filled with love and longing.
Yet still so lost and foolish - will this remain her song?
When first he loved her - true - snared, bound and under siege,
yet never so free!
The seasons turn and she wonders, now in silent scream -
How did we get here?
________
Adrienne Mann, Sept. 2007
How did we get here?
The turn of seasons and twist of age alarm the once-empty heart,
now filled with the ache of hopeless longing.
So short the time, yet so deep the love,
the spiteful cut from guilt's accusing knife will scar and remain,
the memory of such blissful pain her companion long after he is gone.
So lost and foolish - is this to be her song?
No more love, no laughter, no passion, no energy for him;
No yearning, no anger, no lust, no bitter thoughts of futures denied.
No crumpled dreams shown up for their pointlessness beneath the glare of her own mockery.
Is she the fool? Is this her song?
When first he loved her - true - eyes filled with tears of breathless delight at such emotion,
its naked power so explosive beneath the serenity of duty.
This freedom, this safety,
this graceful dance of love and beauty,
of friendship, trust and secrets shared,
desires and daydreams of life among the stars and shadows,
his calm and quiet brilliance illuminating the darkest corners of her confusion.
To follow him, protect him, obey him, to guide him - to worship him, even;
The glad acceptance of her place in his life both honest and bewildering.
But she knew, as she always had...
So now the tears that fall are sad, resigned;
That vicious knife once more rips into her lonely soul,
and now she sees the bloodied wounds so clearly,
the mocking face inside the mirror, its twisted grin and cruel finger pointing,
its hands reaching, scratching, tearing at a tortured heart so filled with love and longing.
Yet still so lost and foolish - will this remain her song?
When first he loved her - true - snared, bound and under siege,
yet never so free!
The seasons turn and she wonders, now in silent scream -
How did we get here?
________
Adrienne Mann, Sept. 2007
Thank you!
and it's very true
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