La Boheme Poem

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


A poem about Puccini's classic opera, La Boheme, or The Bohemians.

Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Many souls walk the ground, covered with pure white snow,

Killing time staring out the cracked, icy windows.

A speaker with his plays, Rodolpho scrawls, his tool so irate.

While his dearest friend Marcelo, with his brush does say

“Let us be burned by the words here signed.

My talent will keep our hearts alive!”.

The angel, Schunard, brings in food and wine, a thing of dreams it seems.

Their bellies empty as the lamps with their candles now dead.

The fire is hungry for art, the friends laugh together

This one night a royal token, their strong bond unspoken.

A stranger knocks, with a key to death’s door, covered in a shawl and their lives are the same no more.

“My name, oh my name.” Mimi cries with a cough,

Gazing at the light even though the candle flickers out.

She feels the warmth on this cold chilly eve, as two hands clasp in a reprieve.

Of love and light they do sing, their song they vow to repeat.

Out into Paris they go as snow falls from the sky so sweet, yet heard is the sound of chattering teeth.

Ah, here does approach a girl so fine she does make man and woman warm and divine.

“When I walk in the streets, all alone in the dark” Musetta’s voice harmonizes with the lark.

Yet t’is to the painter, Marcello held dear, does she sing, her aria latched in his ear.

By the darkness of night,off they go to another cold bed, but even worse is to come for our Bohemians.

Like all tragic tales with Fate dealing the cards, now this love story is torn apart.

As the snow and the cold rise more with the wind, so does our waif and her soul pure of sin.

Mimi, though Rodolfo's words are inked in her heart, her sickness drives their two sweet souls apart.

But only till the spring, but time flies on the air like a bird’s wing.

Musetta the minx, with her own life now tossed, does with Marcello end things that were never lost.

Lives are tattered and disease looms o’er the world with death clear in their sight.

But when hearts are shattered, love is never lost in the dark of night.

As time passes on and the souls now have flown,

The time comes when the friends realize they’re no longer alone.

Upon the hard floor does the precious Mimi linger, as her hands are frozen with cold fingers.

Rodolpho, despairing his constant endeavors, refuses to leave his beloved treasure.

“My hands are no longer cold”, she sighs. And finally, sleep closes Mimi’s eyes.

The time strikes late and the curtain falls low.

Killed by time staring out the cracked, icy windows,

Many souls are lost in the pure white snow...

 


© Copyright 2018 Mya Maola. All rights reserved.

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