Cold glass eyes to sleep glazed eyes,
I meet my own gaze.
Is that sympathy I see,
or just acknowledgement?
my garden has walls of vines
with thorns, but only on the outside
my garden has deep, dark pools
that hold the starlight in their depths
my garden has cold stone benches
that warm to my touch like skin.
I thought I love you
meant forever…not until.
Was there ever a time in which
she didn’t lie there,
those brilliant crystal eyes
shut away behind pearly lids,
that expressive oh-so-useful mouth
gone slack and restfully still?
Was there ever, truly, a time when
our two voices mingled in these halls,
when our footsteps echoed
as we pelted across marble tiles,
laughing, to fall at last upon her bed?
And what a bed it was.
Two acres of the finest satins and silks,
piled to the depths of a well
with featherbeds and down stuffed pillows,
none of it softer than the feel of her skin on mine.
The strong heavy curtains hid us from sight,
muffled the happy sounds of our play.
I, I had her first! Not some slobbering hairy beast
whose only interest in her is as some
obscene planter for his seed,
like a greedy farmer
calculating the yield of his crops!
HE SHALL NOT HAVE HER!
And so I wait. Here in these rooms thick with unnatural sleep.
Here, behind the shadow of the towering hedge I have so carefully tended,
its thorns as wide as my wrist, as sharp as thought…I wait.
(Hmm…seems this poem works for quite a few prompts this week. That makes me happy, as you all know I love my fairy tales. So thank you again, WeWritePoems, for letting me do what I love!)