Pas de Deux
Depression’s wedded ring,
Black mantle wings
draped from above,
That lonely mourning dove.
-Save me from the life I know…
By my hand the razor ensued,
Cutting through the vein’s root,
And on this night we shall wed
Under a full Moon; In my burial bed.
So we lipped, Her blood-red lips,
Barely hesitant to grasp Her hips.
For She is my Goddess, I confess,
Black was Her God-given dress.
As I espied Her hypnotic sway,
Ravens flapped to Her pall ballet,
This mistress’ tyrannical foreplay.
Through my shirt – snow lit red.
A grin on Her face of dread!
My snow Queen with Her macabre glare,
Leans lustrous in ravin care…
But then She walked off this stage,
Had I lost Her love to rage?
Forsaken but taken by Death there,
Paled when tepid couldn’t compare.
A halo of chandeliers
Chided life’s unholy seers,
Awed my sibyl, clearly misled,
Depression clairvoyance whom I’ve met!
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Comments about this poem (Pas de Deux by Jimmy Brouwers )
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