The music sounds like the rumble
Of the most violent earthquake
That spills the waves upon the coast -
Yet she still dances to its beat,
As her heart lies lost
In a tight box beneath the lake -
Mabye she still remembers its heat.
Her legs are weary, her eyes heavy,
Her hands cast in gold, and her body bare,
As she listens to a mockingbird's crow.
She believs she fears none, as she's seen all,
Yet a tear is still born on her chest,
Beneath the childhood knitted shawl
That covers the space where her heart once was,
When the painted crow's feathers brush the face
With the uncompleted lips, and the body
Supporting virginal breasts.
She is still inside this city - a tangled seashell
That can no more sing songs of the Pacific,
And who has ceased to tell happy stories,
Because she can no longer remember
The definition of that word.
I still come to see her dance sometimes
To the tune of "Give my life away" ...
I think she can still hear the music,
And see her steps through her blind eyes
With her heart - the one
That still beats at the bottom of the lake
That dried out after she left ...
A long time ago.
If it were asked nicley, do you think
Her heart could telol her the definition?
Mine might - though it and I are not joined ...
Especially when I can see myself
Reflected inside her empty, schizophrenic eyes.
Poetry » Life Rated: T, English, Tragedy, Words: 256, Published: 8/5/2004