Strange Romance
"Romance is lost; romance is forgotten; romance has died; the young lady with ocean blue eyes and skin as fair as the tips of oceans waves heart has been broken, " exclaimed the poet whom is lost in an age that did not fit in his frame of mind.
In 19th century France, John would have been considered a genius but in modern day America people considered him insane. You see, he lacked the moral perception to discern good and evil. He saw the sweetness in sin and the vacuousness of virtue. He thought nature to be mundane and gave each of its creations the romance of the five senses. To him each flower could smell the honey of the bees, each bird chirped a song of love to the branches of the trees, and each apple could savor the taste of light peach lips curvaceous as a woman's hips.
"The young lily, the bella, whose blonde hair vibrates like tremendous threads of thin gold, glass heart has been smeared by lies, her gracefulness marred by a charlatan's cruel eyes. Her art, integrity and honor sold cheaply to dilettantes. Shattered in pieces one will never feel the full affect of her beating heart again."
Mr. Wilde's words "Thy love not art, " displayed their succinct potency as one subtle tear slid down his eye and dissipated on his mouth.
"Her love is pure, her love is marvelous, her love taste of passionate kisses; her love feels like sinuous caresses, her love burns in the inferno of Dante's hell; the woes of souls drowning in a whirlpool of sorrow can't light the flame and reveal the path to love for her again! " exclaimed John in poetic utterance after waking from a dream.
II
Mary sat melancholy on a case of stairs in robe of satin silk, peering into the sky, with angelic eye, contemplating the mystery of the universe, pondering the eyes of the night, the imperial stars that hovered the earth, with no meaning, with no thought, only motion, subtle and slow, the stars guiding her mind, the universe spoke! she heard voices in her head, which strangled her tongue.
"The silence of the heart, the sadness of her lips, the beauty of her hand, could leave an indelible impression in the softness of sand, " said John passionately. Mary felt nobody could hear her screams!
With the stars as her master, Mary wrote with pen in hand, the murmurs of her heart, the anxieties of her mind, words of one person, of one kind.
I dream of color
I dream of dolor
I hear voices of all but my own
Universes vast and powerful
Create my thoughts?
Gray clouds of night, Reveal my sentiment
I have always loved in vain?
Now I beseech the world to move me sane
Can't you see me, Love is me
I fear loneliness, I fear me
I fear being lost at sea.
The first cut is the most brilliant
Life is fading, I am no longer resilient.
The young lady, at the tender age of 25, closed her book of red and ebony. She took her nails and dug them deep into the lines of her palms; blackish red blood protruded through her fingers, dripping to the ground, sounding like footsteps, Mary heard a sudden sound! She raised her head. There was John, pale as a white ghost, as if he risen from the dead! In an instant, like how miracles occur, life was no longer a question, but life was an intuition.
John said in words of simple vernacular "Mary girl, I felt in my heart that there was some trouble with you, is everything alright? I had a horrible dream and I went for a walk and I saw you! "
Mary looked at him, the blood of her hands swam in his eyes, John saw the pain, that pain that never dies.
John heard the screams of her soul, her saw the light of her vice, the secret of her virtue, the madness of her mind, the strength of her softness, he understood her and he loved her. He walked her to her room and whispered "goodnight."
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Added by Poetry Lover
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