The Stolen Kiss And A Tragic Encore
When all the opera’s finished, and all
The crowd has dimmed, when the wings are left to
Be empty, and story is all done,
I sing my eulogy and force it on
A raven’s wing, so that to the night, the
Shining moon will cry once. The tears of a
Dove would douse a flame which could not be quenched,
The rotting of words and too bicuspid
Opulence could streak a frown across the
Horizon with its sombre, dismal inks.
That when I drowned in passion thick, my zeal
I tore, I cast to the wind all prudence
And caressed my Queen’s blushing flesh, incensed
When the throbbing heat would pass. Beneath a
Silken sheet where such soft caress did dwell,
Adoration’s jewelled robe kept us clothed
Throughout the night, where the stars did sing to
His praises with more fervour than the now
Closed opus. Yet as the light crept over us,
I recognised solitude, my partner.
By opened ways within me, I wept more
Then I ever dared that night, the wrath of
Myself upon my dreadful heart. Yet by
My burning will I could not slake the woe
Inside me. With many Ancients still in
Tow, my spirit bleeds the words Sophocles,
Euripides and Aeschylus used in
Works long lost to time. A dream cast away
In bitter winds, a hope slaughtered in dark
Lowland forests. A heart punctured upon itself.
A stolen kiss and a tragic encore.
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