She Was A Smouldering Kind Of Joan Of Arc Poem by Gert Strydom

I
Sometimes he wonders what burns so deep in her heart
past reason and understanding,
with eyes that do swallow a person
and about thunder flashing down one gets an impression.

II
With her wild white curls thrown back almost reckless
she was far past picture perfect,
even wilder than the animals in the Kruger national park,
like a goddess that can incinerate a person to dust and ash

III
and for her he had butterflies,
did comb his hair back,
he was overcome and enraptured by her,
by the challenge,

IV
by the suppression of every moral law
and against her he had no resistance
when she reached out for him,
did come with her enticing body.

V
Every day was full of excitement
and there was mere happiness when she did laugh,
life was intense full of expectation
and for each other they had the greatest respect

VI
until everything between them was played out,
when she reckoned that he did not anymore fit into her life,
doors slammed shut behind her
while away she clattered away on her high-heels,

VII
explosive moments hanged between them
and the happy angel was replace by a furious harpy
when the days of her depression came,
her suicide attempts were too much for him

VIII
and with the furniture and his possessions she did leave,
as another man, a policeman, was in her mind more right
and she drove away with his car
but she could not get the servant, Rose.

© Gert Strydom