Pírouette

 

 

 

Featured art by Brooke Shaden. Click title image to visit her studio.

 

 

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The Verve “Bittersweet Symphony (Instrumental)”

 

 

 

 

The miasma of death
Clung to my silhouette
Hung in the air like a stale cigarette
Beset with plague
Reflection vague
Complexion pale
Infection rate projected gain as I stepped brave into my self-made oubliette

 

A prisoner unto myself
The slave of reluctant decree
Had seen my smile defiled—reviled its sudden and sullen decrease
Observed the earth grow hard in disregard beneath my feet
Reserved the right to swerve the blight of girded night bequeathed
Foresight had served its purpose as it herded the black sheep
To where declared the blind sight certain then to slacken sheathe
The veil of the assailed prevailed high tide to bridal wreathe
And every tree within the heath
Entitled me to breathe

 

Guilt and shame
Had staked their claim on long forsaken name
Changing lanes through veins enraged in opt to underlay the blame
Opulent the famed terrain before me as I pored the glades
Restored the faith explored in ways I’d only ever dreamed
Seen for my belief as I poured forth into grape seed in season
Bleeding with innate speed, I paid heed to no embrace of reason
Needed the escape beat of a heart apart from bind
Bid salute to past, embark on leaving mark behind

 

Time was of the essence—yet felt leisured in recline
Space was ever present, yet undressed of tethered bind
Safe between warm feathers, I addressed my weathered mind
Endeavoured then to find the deviled eggs and sever ties
Edging to the shadows midst the narrow of the light
Deep within the shallows
I felt hallowed in reprise
Arrows blotted out the sun
Outrun the plotted night
My head felt spun
Intestines wrung
The song of fame remained unsung
Of honoured frame—I came undone
And, in a second, died

 

The miasma of death
Wrung of my silhouette
Was far flung as I spun pírouette in delight
Had survived until dawn
Child of scorn now forsworn to adorn each horizon anew
In eyes a hundred thousand oceans true
As through the pines
In true blue twine
The Amaryllis bloomed

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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