Love entombed

Stranger thoughts have never been transpired than these, as I stand here, hollow and bereft.

That although she looked beautiful on the day she flitted into my life like a shadow,

She looked far more beautiful in death.

Her gossamer of blonde tresses tapered down

her sculptured porcelain face into silvery wisps,

Her slender frame shackled to this bed of rose and linen shroud.

Her torpid bones long set, sleeping silently in rigor mortis.

Her skin, blanched in pallor, wan and translucent,

As if water, not blood, ran through her veins.

Her lips, which once spoke laughter melodious and poetry passionate,

Now lay enigmatic, as if scandalous secrets, she had to feign.

Before her eyes, voluminous and glassy, were robbed of life,

She gave her heart, the whole of her heart to He.

They were to be betrothed, romantically quantum entangled,

To live in a small, dear cottage by the sea.

But alas, he was a man of bubble impulse,

Played love, without consequence, like a game.

He left her, broken hearted, and quickly departed,

With another girl whom I have forgotten her name.

Smitten to smithereens, she waited in pathetic turmoil,

For her love to return until she could take it no more.

By the briny sea, she fell down crooked cragged rocks,

And was discovered dead, washed upon the shore.

And now she lies here, austere and august,

like an opium-bound dream, ethereal defined,

To be descended into her grime-bedewed, Earth-stained walls,

And eaten away, torn apart, flesh by flesh,

by soil, worm, flies and Time.

Ah, perish the thought! Yes, perish the thought!

Although for her, the raven croaked and deemed her death corporal.

Although her bones crumble to tattered ash and tattered dust,

In my mind, her marble beauty remains entombed, immortal.

If she were alive to witness this grim affair,

She’d argued her life was lived full with wonders to enthral,

For it is far better to have loved and lost,

Than to have never loved at all.

But how can I live by your wisdom, my fair Maiden?

My wretched flower buried upon a hill!

For Angel Death has selfishly snatched you away,

Before I could tell you I love you still.