For Sylvia

entry picture

She was the god-forsaken

Who looked back in anger

Evading bullets,

Until the bullet with her name on it

Hit

She met a man who cries

And never hides, his guilt.

Outside Production village

On Cricklewood lane,

Or, here, alone upon the moors again,

My thinking and my dreaming,

Are a melody for scores:

Sheet music on which I wept

And read of  fading souls,

From which she created

Her leading role,

Her Ariel.

So many gaps,

I thought

It made me laugh,.

At my thinking

Scapegoats and flotsam,

Left after all of the singing,

The stinging-ringing of bells,

She exits stage left, suddenly,

Head in a gas oven,

Alone, with no-one to tell..

◄ Winter Blue

Tomorrow belongs to me ►

Comments

Big Sal

Sun 16th Dec 2018 00:59

Alive as the trees outside.👍

poemagraphic

Sat 15th Dec 2018 06:38

Respect!

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