Regret Sounds like Nothing but a dull Roar

He stands by the window
a shadow in the room,
through mist light I see
debris and remains,
the fast lane
of exhilaration
followed by
the slow lane.

This room is reached
by a spiral staircase
in a hotel, just off the
main autobahn.
It is not a big town
only just classed a city
by a cathedral that chimes,
while we suck limes
and drink from salt encrusted glasses
I would never say;
but these are my tequila days.

While he stands there
I loathe him
a burning ember
of a romance
that I should have left
in a shroud of mystery,
now all I feel is the coldness
of an embalming fluid.
This is the aftermath
of my living death.

When he turns I burn him
so that he comes and sits,
strokes my hair
for him remembrance is rare,
for me it is the scratch at my head
and the lead in my heart.
I do not want to end my days
a gasping, panting ~
breathing kisses of sycophant,
I'm too jaded for a moonlit flit
instead I will be the butterfly
who burnt her wings too soon.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 607 times
Written on 2014-05-08 at 20:32

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F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
Poetry at its finest! I so love everything you write... awesome where you send my thoughts, Elle. Brilliant, as always.
2014-05-10


Ivan R
A window in to a soul, this poem, a soul that does so much with it's time and life,
tells tales of her times, and writes poetry of a mind so interesting
2014-05-09



I felt this through and through.
Ashe
2014-05-08