Undying Passion Upon view of her beauty, he is struck speechless, this timid youth yearns from afar. Fear of rejection, amplifies his ungainliness, keeps masked his desires for contact. Love for the queen of courts, this jester dreams unlikely, perfection has no use for profanity. Wistful dreams of passion has hold of his heart, visions of utopia torment his soul. Seasons pass, and the obsessions remain, maturity has done nothing to alleviate the pain. His work disturbed, his sleep fitful, dreams plagued by her angelic visage. He seeks the antidote, and finds her exiting the store, overcome by ambivalent feelings of joy and pain. She enters her car, driving far away, this beauty ignorant of what awaits. Her silhouette, bold against the window pane, his obscured figure spies from the shadows below. Passion wells up, and unnatural urges overwhelm, he begins his ascent up to meet his lover. A flight of stairs, journey through self, anticipating unification throughout time. Approaching the door, Room 15, knocks gingerly, slowly opening, revealing his destined mate. Greeting the stranger, the angel smiles tentatively, as shimmering steel arcs in a swift crescent. Smile fading slowly, the ebbing life force dissipates, relentlessly the knife plunges again and again. Red, the color of love, flows freely from the wounds, collapsing into the awaiting arms of a forgotten lover. He falls on her, engaging in a deep passionate kiss, drinking of her soul, his quest for love fulfilled. Pristine white of the gown, the crumbling charnel flowers, complements the alabaster white of her skin. Idle talk flows from groom to bride, preceding eternal union; kneeling before her in supplication, he offers the band. He takes the band, and places it gingerly on her withered finger, and utters the words "I do", embracing her emphatically. Organ music swells, noisy cacophony battering the room, he carries her out of the chapel, sweeping her off her feet, as rice rains down upon this glorious day under God.
Reason for writing:
No, this poem isn't biographical. Actually, it was in response to a dare that a friend made. This friend, whose name I'll keep anonomous (Kevin Maas) was a Fantasy/Science Fiction buff who regarded my poetry as nothing more than mushy, lovie-dovie lines on paper. Anyway, the dare was to write a serious poem--perferrably on the demented, fantasy side. Well, of course, I couldn't be all-abiding in my response to such a dare so I made a little compromise: a love story along more demented lines.
Birth sign: Not entered
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