Brigits_Flame Entry
brigits_flame week 3 entry (only the 2nd time I've reached week 3 if I get in) is a french word "depaysment" which has to do with disorientation and disillusionment. Back to poetry!
Title: Bedroom
Rating: PG
Word count: 246
******************
"The Bedroom"
There is thunder, though the night is calm
Lightning, brief and brilliant flashes
The curtains against the lattice window rustle
The room is alive all around me
Dizziness sets in as I rise
Mane of fiery hair shaking down
Cords of it caress my figure
The heart is too far gone, half asleep
A rose sits in a fancy mason jar
I can see it from the corner of my eye
On the desk where I keep the red leather journal
I wish to see it
I cannot bear that journal
Full of waxy poetics, it mocks me
I cannot rise further, rooted beyond belief
My fingers stroke my arm in pitiful consolation
My breath stinks of wine, and brandy, and cakes
Reminders of leisure, reminders of pain
My head pounds with thrills
The ghost of you towering over me
The silk dressing shirt falls away from the shoulder
Freckles, you loved those freckles
I cannot bear to see them
I cannot tear my grip away
The cool weight of the bottle against my palm
I feel it briefly before the shards
In the mirror, I see myself
Until all is shards
The shards dance, twinkling and mocking
As they clatter to the floor
The world evaporates, the rim of the mirror standing resolute
I sink, I hover, I groan
The rooms of this mansion are a lie
And but one has you
Yet there I remain alone
Chained to a bed never entered by I
Title: Bedroom
Rating: PG
Word count: 246
******************
"The Bedroom"
There is thunder, though the night is calm
Lightning, brief and brilliant flashes
The curtains against the lattice window rustle
The room is alive all around me
Dizziness sets in as I rise
Mane of fiery hair shaking down
Cords of it caress my figure
The heart is too far gone, half asleep
A rose sits in a fancy mason jar
I can see it from the corner of my eye
On the desk where I keep the red leather journal
I wish to see it
I cannot bear that journal
Full of waxy poetics, it mocks me
I cannot rise further, rooted beyond belief
My fingers stroke my arm in pitiful consolation
My breath stinks of wine, and brandy, and cakes
Reminders of leisure, reminders of pain
My head pounds with thrills
The ghost of you towering over me
The silk dressing shirt falls away from the shoulder
Freckles, you loved those freckles
I cannot bear to see them
I cannot tear my grip away
The cool weight of the bottle against my palm
I feel it briefly before the shards
In the mirror, I see myself
Until all is shards
The shards dance, twinkling and mocking
As they clatter to the floor
The world evaporates, the rim of the mirror standing resolute
I sink, I hover, I groan
The rooms of this mansion are a lie
And but one has you
Yet there I remain alone
Chained to a bed never entered by I