| re: Mourning Would | |
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Posted by: |
Vin 03:08 am UTC 04/12/09 |
| In reply to: | re: Mourning Would - samurai7 01:06 pm UTC 04/10/09 |
| Ha. Thanks. That's actually the only reason this poem exists. I got the idea for the title, then I needed to create something to stick it on. > great pun on Morning Wood! Haha > > > 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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