Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Year after year I see her
turning into the alley entrance,
walking towards me through
the only evening of my life.
Her face has never changed,
much like the Sphinx, features
worn by age and the assaults
of foolish men merely enhanced
her timeless inscrutability.

One must never forget
the evening, to dance
with the priestess of the oracle
though I did not know it then,
from a waltz stately and elegant
to a furious danse apache,
changing continuously, yet fixed
in perpetual orbit like
the infinite aspects of a moon in eclipse.

Her outstretched hand offers many things:
my lunch box for school,
the key to her hotel room,
a cloak for the shoulders
of a tired and ancient Laertes.
I will always need her,
in sorrow and resignation
I accept and understand this,
more deeply I fear
than she would ever begin to know.

She stops and turns into the alley entrance,
her eyes of obsidian absorb and refract,
creating a spectrum that illuminates
the only evening of my life

Her outstretched hand offers many things:
my lunch box for school,
the key to her hotel room,
a cloak for the shoulders
of a tired and ancient Laertes.
I will always need her,
in sorrow and resignation
I accept and understand this,
more deeply I fear
than she would ever begin to know.

mother?
lover?
sister?

she is all women
and makes the alley lighter,
less bleak


....
enjoyed your poem, constantine

me too. i am quite moved by it: the solemn and poetic recognition of the connection between male and female.

~westie

thank you both for your insightful comments. you have read my intentions well.