It's Still Life

Where Music Stops

She stood in the lee of heavy grief,
as if lashed to a mast on a craggy reef.
Sirens howled in her ear,
and a month lingered to a year.

Swallowed, some say, as she bedded gloom.
Took herself to her darkened room.
Took her heart, and buried it deep,
and then fell into a long cold sleep.

Do we see our loved ones dear,
and does God’s plan become abundantly clear?
No, she said, it’s just a long cold street,
empty of all, but my echoing feet.

for dVerse Poets. A Ballad. Go dark and gloomy. (note: the rhyme constraint went off-piste.)   © Misky 2020 Image: WikiArt Head Study for the Masque of Cupid by Burne-Jones 1859