The Lady In The Camellia Poem by Alice Schesya

Unheard
I can still see your unspoken words,
Unheard yet reverberating in
A resonance of sweet harmonious dissonance,
Overtones my eyes recognise as colours
But which my ears fail to comprehend.

And in their watery reflections,
Your eyes also have their music
Transparent and wordless like unvoiced vowels
Silent like the camellia I hold in my hand.

And if I tilt this flower
And you come tumbling out,
Wings ruffled and delicious in your impotent rage
Would you not utter a single admonishing phrase
I gaze upon the flower, this miniature garden
Glorying in nature's flawless imperfections,
And see only the product of a sterile yard,
No faerie, no feminine presence
Nothing more than a garden weed.

Perhaps all this is not music, not poetry,
No garden of words and other intelligible sounds,
No lost language a tiny human being might speak,
Only the end note of the last lark,
Rising on its final evening ascent,
The note not even he can hear nor even knows he's uttered,
The note that neither bids goodbye nor greets in open arms,
But simply says, 'You are Alone, '

The cold autumnal night has descended
I am lost. I must find my own way home.

(c) Chesya 2007)