My Peaceful Bride

Girl in the white dress dead.
Silver knife.
Red wrists.
Frustration made of simple mistake.

Her wedding gown.
Lace & long & oh so beautiful.
Her pale skin.
Perfect sleep.

A single tear as silence held.
Music plays, piano keys.
Disaster through song’s repeat.

Her cherry lips
Expensive prostitution.
Suicide?
Or murdered love?

Upon this chair the white man sees.
Looks over body.
Sensual lust? Or ego bruised?

Her pretty face. How young was she?
I held her hand, & now the knife.
Scarlet stains, sticky fingers lost in blood.
Who ended the dream she shared?

A final thought. Her pretty body.
Which cut came first?
Her failed desire or my expectation?
Lover lost, angel died. Solemn grief in human lust.

~ I play a song, the cave is dark, I see this scene within my mind.  Maybe it’s just how all things end.

© Ed Simkins

Advertisements

Missing You.

How do I get you?

How do I reach you?

How do I stop this bullshit and find you once more in my arms?

– How?!?

The walls still echo with the laughter you produced,

The beauty of your smile radiates in spaces known to us.

And the empty garden still cries in silence without your voice.

So where are you my love?

Where have you gone?

Why have you ridden so very far away?

I dream of you.

I see your face.

A distant memory that takes me back.

But the coldness of this winter past I know will last the year

& I miss you like the leaves without the trees

& I care nothing for the sun without you.

In my mind I cup your smiling cheeks. I hold you in my nervous dreams.

I prostrate myself and cry for you.

– For you.

& Each night a life of torture passes.

The blood that’s spilt, my offering for you.

My dreams for you.

So tell me how. Just tell me how!

How do I win you back?

How do I fix this world?

How do I make you smile again.

For me.

How?

& How do I let these tears stop rolling?

For the days they care no more,

Nor the nights which see these droplets fall.

I miss you.

I love you.

I love you.

~ A poem about Ghosts & Songs & Broken Justice & how I find it hard to escape.

© Ed Simkins