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This weeks submission comes from a Clevelandpoetics - The Blog reader.
She watches from the east window with despicable eyes
sending forth loud, dark caws...
Wherefore art thou?...
I am kin to the insurgent pundit,
half the life of the traitorous shrew...
...and I am not a Capulet,
but she wonders wherefore.
The drumming of her disapproval
resounds above the band,
daring me to go on
The queen is wincing...
contorted with wincing...
sick with green plaque in the hull of her romance...
But I go on pretending not to see.
Blind to the face of life unlived
perched in a towering place of spite.
Weary of adagio stumbling
and piercing eyes that dagger.
Dazed and confused by the contradictions
of love unloving.
She shakes her head with dramatic exaggerations
and I grow just a little bit weaker.
Weeping inward like wilting ferns.
Brown edged and sun-burned.
Void of strength to face one so skilled to scorn.
Skilled by natural instinct that accommodates neglect.
Dare to dance beneath the rain of hate
and shower of pelting resentment?
I can see her...
Saw the exact moment her smile fled the scene of my impune infraction...
the same moment I waxed internal
and turned my unsung affections to songs.
She so loudly wonders why
when I rend the veil of my mysteries
and the masses come running.
They come clamoring in
with no refusal of truth
and they, the gathering witnesses, applaud
while she, in maddening heat, hurls stones from her cloud.
Face turned away,
she is so shamefully moved that she wails with disappointment.
Looking to behold her faded beauty,
I find her revolted by her crowning king
and I whisper...
Come down from the seat of your heaven.