#23
Lacrimosa
Tears rain down her cheeks, each a river
and her nails dig into my back - red slashes like fire.
I bend over with the choir in my ears -
as chords soar
a hundred voices into one
the music tears at the walls
begging to escape.
Her eyes run wild and frantic at the violet din
of heavy breaths growing sweaty, wet, drenched
in beads of tears lapping at her lips I wipe away
with the brush of my tongue -
painting a desperate night and lonely stars.
I feel her back arch, and the violins sob.
Each string pleading
to be let go -
the notes about to snap,
lash out at the musicians'
tired faces.
Panic as she sinks into the storm heat,
and she looks up at me but sees only a ghost;
my face must be hollow, my skin pale moonlight on grass
covering her and caressing her fallen arms.
I dig deep, with tears long dried in desert desolation of rest.
Music floods the hall,
the glorious sun
in velvet robes muted black
as the earth trembles
in anticipation,
the tension.
We spin, eyes wild, mouths like daggers
seeking to find blood that stains our hands;
we are no longer alone, separate, cold.
As she shrinks into herself, bare, her hair draped
on her shoulders, I grow, and fountains pour from
my fingertips across her back; light dances on diamonds
rippling from her eyes, and she pushes the blade home,
a sliver of moon through the clouds.
Release.
As the blood settles, I have fallen.
This is the end.
::
lacrimosa translates to "tearful"
I am really interested in what people think about this poem. Is it good, bad, ugly? Disturbing, anything? What parts are good, what parts are bad.
How about the ending?
...things like that I'd like to know...