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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poetic romance

Submitted: February 06, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 06, 2011



Were those your tears that fell gently;
caressing the mud trodden ground?
Did you sing that day?
To wash over the mistakes you chalked out in gray.
Twirling endlessly with no day to fill out the drenched night
with your dove white, pure gown.
I would not have believed them if they said you cried,
allowing your tears to flow down frostbitten cheeks.
Gracefully pulling back an ivory hand…
to reject any kind caress.
Did you ever watch the swans
as they transformed into those maidens?
I could not imagine you wearing that shade of color.
They said you smiled for a fleeting feathery moment.
This resulted in me shaking my head.
You see, I close my ears to not rapture this
dreamlike image of what you brought me.
Did you dance that night?
I know your teardrops are forbidden
for they sting as a snake’s venom.
Do not fret…I have to wait a moment since I forget.
Was it only I?
That had that one moment with your voice?
They would all stare at the horse shoe prints in the stained snow
if I told them.
You were the one that shared your dream
about the swans.
I saw them.
They danced.
Danced in twirling circles that made pure,
white rose petals fly around me.
It tickled,
when those petals ever so lightly teased my cheek.
I believed that you danced though.
Danced as effortlessly and gracefully
as those swan maidens.
Only at night with the moonbeams
soaking that almost translucent skin.
You were drenched in silver moonlight that night
…I believe that.
Yet with my outstretched hand silently yearning for yours
is twisted away as always.
I hope you were there.
Even if it was after they left…
at night.
I would have believed if you danced there alone.
I now dance with the swan maidens;
they needed me since they all waited earnestly for me.
Their dancing partner.
Even as I take their starlit, feathery hands…
I do not forget.
You did not have to shed tears since I understand.
My hand still yearns for your porcelain one.
You did sing for me…did you not?

© Copyright 2019 Irene Adler. All rights reserved.

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