The Romantic, a poem
Last night while trying to figure out how to write a short story and listening to the Tudors OST, this poem came to me. It's pretty self explanatory, so read!
The Romantic
The thoughts of her mind
Seem from a time long forgotten.
She sees a breath of something kind
In an apple that is rotten.
Shielded are her eyes,
A haze of perfect illusion.
It could well be her demise,
Though she sees no intrusion.
In her head are tales
Of chivalry and valor,
But soon her dream pales,
Her situation turned sour.
No longer can she hide,
Behind her mask of love.
It was taken by a tide,
Her loss an unfeeling shove.
Into a world of grief
She finds herself now tossed.
No place for rest or relief
Moving forward, always lost.
This is the Romantic’s road,
That she must now take;
On her back a heavy load
Of notions now turned fake.
She will travel here
Until the bitter end.
Will a Prince be near,
That to her he may tend?
A happy ending is not
Destined for some dreamers.
As is the tragic plot
Of writers and schemers.
But she will find her way,
That we can be sure of.
The Romantic has a place to stay,
In her fantasy of long lost love.