Five Sonnets - Poem by Singer Joy
Confusion of what things might come after
Her smile went dim and loving arms grew cold
Followed him just like her lilting laughter,
And love, that he could grasp, but not quite hold.
Of course, he fretted not about such things;
His need was no more than temporary.
The lush body and sweet doe-eyes she brings
Are all he ever asks of one as she.
Her plain increase in vacuosity
Begins to aggravate him beyond belief;
What once was simple animosity
Now caused him unimaginable grief.
Little does he know the cost of this path:
A broken, dumb girl in his aftermath.
How now, to proceed, as she cries alone?
The fleeting thought passes her empty mind;
A mind that wishes for what it has known
When it was still adored and still confined.
Head in her hands and her heart on the floor:
Little, bleak, pitiful, and so useless.
The result of a hard man’s settled score,
She feels it’s her fault, and she’s excuseless.
But how does she have any part in blame
When she feels so utterly mistreated?
She forgets: but she’ll lose her life and name
For feeling so completely defeated.
But her superego will never lie;
She’ll crush his soul before she’ll let him by.
For years she’s remained, in his view, a blur:
One more sad girl: one more broken heart.
He won’t let himself even think of her,
For fear of wishing they weren’t apart.
There have been many girls since her, he knows,
In their empty faces, he sees her smile:
A beautiful woman wearing no clothes
Reminds him of her charming, naked wile.
He’ll never confess to guilt or regret;
He’ll never confess to his love, either.
He’ll always remember the day they met;
And he’ll always secretly desire her.
For any intent or any purpose,
We’ll simply say he was less than nonplussed.
As the new day dawns on her cold, dry face,
She emerges from a five year cocoon.
She leaves her home- a now unfriendly place-
To greet the rising sun and falling moon.
Across her face and chest roll long, thin tears.
She holds her steady determination
In the face of her societal fears;
Forgetting all past recrimination.
She walked for hours, tracing memories;
Having planned the events of this morning
To the tiniest minuscule degrees,
He would pay a high price for her scorning.
As she swore to herself that fateful night,
She would get retribution: wrong or right.
That cold March sunrise was the last he’d see:
Staring out over the bleak cityscape.
Those first two hours were the last he’d be free
From that angry woman’s desperate escape.
She holds his hand, like so many times hence:
Seeming perfectly usual to both.
He sighs: seeming like one who now repents
A decision, that for years now, he’s been loathe.
He remembers, and now is not afraid
Of what he is sure that she will do next;
He wants to tell her, and wishes to trade
His words past, but is almost too perplexed.
He is certain that she will be his end;
There’s no one else with whom this time he’d rather spend.
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