Ballade to Sorrow

“Some old wounds never truly heal, 
and bleed again at the slightest word.”
― George R.R. Martin

  

How do I revive you? Truth
relived in those painted insights
taste our remorse like dry vermouth
against the sickly drought of your wight!
Before eldritch lovers you mask again light.
Drove in dehydration we seep
below constancy – tremulous blight –
through my fingers to the deep.*

Is love lost in death of youth?
I remember the pattern – flight
that flickered feverishly, the flashing booth
recording kisses to fresh found height.
And there was never a fight
in those elevations. We allowed a leap
of faith to convulsing hearts – now slip right
through my fingers to the deep.*

Shall we bury bittersweet untruth?
Once form danced. And now excite
the clues picked by empathic sleuths –
we never sever with whimpering foresight.
Rancor, reap embraced snakebite –
and bitter, with tongue’s sweep,
becomes the callous road. You fight
through my fingers to the deep.*

Which wicked kiss laid such parasite?
Stranger days we adored now plague sleep
and in infernos obsolete, your fahrenheit
spirals through my fingers to the deep.*

  

* Edger Allan Poe, A dream Within A Dream

Poem © Phen Weston 2017

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