The Night is Early Yet
Listless in her early death,
the painted face has colour yet
with green bouquets and purple hues
(there is such life in deadly bruise)
and scattered like red polka dots
(oh way above the chimney tops)
is blood across her open breast
(I must not look too close unless-)
My blade knows nothing of regret!
The night is early yet.
Feather weight with heavy hands,
teeth clenched to hold her last demands,
the warped wrapping and broken bows,
late laundry-day and rendered rose.
A thought's delay, a tear's regret
that the night is early yet.
v1.
Spoiler
The Night is Early Yet
Listless in her early death,
the painted face has colour yet
with green bouquets and purple hues,
red polka-dots and yellow shoes.
Do not deny, do not regret!
The night is early yet.
Feather weight with heavy hands,
teeth clenched to hold her last demands,
the warped wrapping and broken bows,
late laundry-day and rendered rose.
A thought's delay, a tear's regret
that the night is early yet.
Listless in her early death,
the painted face has colour yet
with green bouquets and purple hues,
red polka-dots and yellow shoes.
Do not deny, do not regret!
The night is early yet.
Feather weight with heavy hands,
teeth clenched to hold her last demands,
the warped wrapping and broken bows,
late laundry-day and rendered rose.
A thought's delay, a tear's regret
that the night is early yet.
____________
A poem I wrote a month or so back that I'm taking another look at. I wonder if I should end here or carry on and delve deeper into the persona?
