A vague song of an estranged marrow

She paused; she heard a moan of pain throttling her uvula.

Should I struggle or be content?  Should I stay or perish, she asked.

Again, she paused; a stifled sob slipped out stealthily.

Long silence followed, ­then again, her voice, the putrid dusk stirred.

She wrenches her arm with aimless vigor and shrieks like a feline phantom.

Gliding along the vermilion walls, she murmurs words that rhyme.

Come to me, beckons her haunted memories bedecked in silver geranium.

I cannot come my love, she says, for I fear dark blankets and Chime.

The ineffable prophecy of my sorrow tells me I yet have the inner swarm,                                                                                                        

Like a soft spot on a ruthless man, like a desolate widow’s lone revelry.

If only I could cede my delusion, as if it was a cavernous storm,

My undying hope shall not be nugatory as a fleeting reverie.

Untangling her frizzy hair with fingers brown, Some tears of feign she shed.
The tears that fall unfelt, forging truth with perennial guile. 

Her love does not revive mirth anymore; her fear touches none with dread.

Her sorrow cuddles none with pain; her life embraces none for a while.

 
There were moments when her amour was hourly heard as hourly spoken.

When the long, sunny days of bliss, sparkled like a gleaming beacon of hope.

Where the moon juiced out all its light and filled her cup of faith unbroken
Her sparkling three winks of time, Still never dreaming of the two- faced strop.

But again how could she refrain from slipping into the vicious scheme of dubious life.

To bruise round her fallen utopia, that drops feigned tears upon her barrow
She cares no longer and desires to leave, where she can rest her inward strife.
But, before she goes by, she sings a vague song of an estranged marrow.

CCK

Ps- The picture displayed is not my personal property.