Another Viola

April 12, 2011 at 1:09 pm (Poetry, Sonnets) (, , , , , )

Look at me. Another lost Viola.

Sitting in disguise and quiet, secret love

To see him, ah! but to love him with a-

No. Don’t say passion. Don’t say smold’ring love.

I, Viola, must sit with patience,

Must sit and not be seen or heard or loved.

To break my promise would kill my conscience-

Would return me to that hated, dark flood.

That unholy night where my soul first lost

Those black times when my deeds were unguarded

I killed my dreams in regretted holocaust.

And now I wait, missing what I discarded.

Their sacrifice that I might learn anew

That grace still comes even when merits are few.

 

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No One was Saved

June 23, 2010 at 11:23 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

I am Eleanor Rigby.

I come out of this world

A lonely person

Searching for love

Dreaming about that day.

I am a river.

Soft and sweet.

My embrace like cold needles

Carrying my dream away

Back to the lonely banks.

I am a smile.

I play on the lips

Of liars, saints, and lovers.

I come and I go

A sign that they are just barely getting by.

I am a secret.

Shared between friends,

Holding people together

Tearing others apart

Because no one keeps me to themselves.

I am Eleanor Rigby.

I keep faces in jars

Because my own face is the mask.

The river, the smile, the secret

are truth.

***I love allusions and I felt a sudden connection to Miss Rigby, so this is my tribute to her (as well as the four men who brought her into existence).  I look forward to the day when I don’t feel like I’m turning into Eleanor and Father McKenzie any more.

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