| Mourning Would | |
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Posted by: |
Vin 01:38 am UTC 04/10/09 |
| A poem. Good or rubbish? Please advise. Thank you. "Mourning Would" Mourning would become me, if Death did not become you so. And weeping might console me if consoling I did need. But mightn’t tears be finite, yes, in limited supply, and wiser saved for darker days and those in direr need? Nay, I shall hold my tears, I think, for they’d fall futile, surely, if at all; for what sadness is there known to Man by Nature or Artifice devised, by God or gods or Happenstance contrived, that hath any hope to long withstand such beautiful and bountiful bouquets, assembled here in grand panoply? The overwhelming wave of color and scent washing roughshod, never subtle, o’er such petty, salty, brazen tears as dare to have their way, to claim this duchy as their own and over every courtier hold sway. “Hark, alack! There lies a body, so weep us, weep us hard!”, they’ll say. But ‘tis not to be, recreant tears, not for me, and truly not today. And waiting might offend me, if a weight had not been lifted thus; this lengthy line might bore me if it moved with lesser haste. But the gathered horde converses -hear!- some laugh through whispered guilt, foreshadowing the evening once this Glooming Hour abates. And this body, yours, so statue still… Would that your stillness were some grave affront to sense and sensibility, and thus no assault on conscience, however slight. Would that the silent song your lips now sing fell harsher on the ears, would that it leaned further to the realm of Cacophony than to that of her comely sister. ‘Tis de rigeur, this Mortis, pedestrian in all ways save one, and that the most literal. (And, had you your say, the most important, I surmise, this irony not lost on me, as you are not.) And mourning black is easier on the eyes than many a bright pastel, and slimming, too; enhances nuance, missed before, of the bleating, misty, doe-eyed girls -all hair and make-up and awkward heels, fragile feelings and careless tattoos- whose common cause from two to four is grieving, fleeting and soon forgot. Only grieving you. | |
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