Dark Of The Room

 

She was a love song to some, 

So well rhymed, in metre, 

She sang serenades and was just 

To love and to each emotion, 

She was well made of a song, 

Each word delicately chosen and woven, 

From a couplet, to sestet, to octave, 

All feathered coloured bird of dusk, 

She was of a matter never revealed, 

 

But then came the inevitable fall, 

Like the fall of a sparrow in greens, 

The song was destroyed, and rhyme lost, 

Each word crumbled at its own cost, 

The two corners of the day and night, 

Were now to her a confinement of might, 

The days made her shrink, 

And night consumed her through, 

As she lay each night in the room of dark, 

Lay to be consumed, awaiting orgasm, 

She longed to be contaminated, 

Till the man comes and feeds on her, 

Nothing changed except the man at night, 

The dark of the room and her solitude, 

With a man that thrust himself upon her, 

Though the ocean of tears dried long, 

She kept faith in God that lost maps to her, 

Sold the feelings in exchange of living, 

In search of reason, expression, light, she lay, 

Like a creature awaiting immolation, 

How many candles does it take 

To light the house of a sexed woman? 

She still kept her faith like a shield, 

To all that is lost would soon return, 

And give her reason, expression and light.