Saturday, 3 March 2018

Tear Her All to Pieces

Tear Her All to Pieces

Wind riffling waves across fields of wheat
Richard the Lionheart crosses, sheathes, meets and greets
 in her pale remembered sun.

A warmed-over stream where sticklebacks swim
boys scream, turn over lost doors for rafts and grin.
to voyage downstream before they can run.  

Innocents peer deep into rushes and reeds
where small mammals tremble amongst the grasses and seeds.
Past her echoing ghosts of days long gone.

Yellow matted banks of tangled snapdragon
shot through with rippling nightshades, ochres and laburnum
she recalls reverberation of cannon and gun.

She flirts at the borders in the forest of the mind
her throat and breasts bare by thoughts and design
shudders to the shake of the drum.

Hem-locked Lords, now the lady Bella Donna faint smiles.
She listens with understanding to distant shouts of the child
strapped tight, bound to, never undone.

Her looking glass rubbed smooth by time, she still recoils,
when Lionheart raises sword, signals to bring him her spoils,
ripping limbs apart from each other one.

She glimpses returning boys, she watches and listens
to joyful shrieks, where tears on their cheeks now glisten
in her pale remembered sun.

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