XXVII.

cul de sac

On this dark and pluvious evening,

I drew the curtain back,

to peer from my window discretely,

Looking down upon a dreary cul de sac.

Black lamps line granite streets, so neatly;

Seemingly intended for illumination,

but in reality, contributes to the bleak,

as it feeds the weak and desolation.

The rain showers are incessant, unending;

People move slowly and with hesitation.

They are dressed in black and grey,

I watch them pause and delay; as if in sedation.

With indifference, they survey each step,

casting a black silhouette, over wet walkways.

The outdoor conditions have worsened,

As I close the tatted lace curtain,

to inspect the room herein.

On the table of teak, lie confections sweet,

with roses and grapes nestled on a silver tray;

and the wine is chilling in a crystal vessel,

Intended for a party of two.

Yet, the door knocker has not knocked;

and the clocks have not stopped,

As I wait in vain for you.

The candles upon the mantle have receded;

my expectations have been defeated,

and the temperature has fallen from red to blue.

Instantly, the fruit upon the table appears decayed,

and I feel deflated and betrayed.

In profound disgust, the candle is snuffed;

and, like the weather external,

where clouds are black and nocturnal;

I am eclipsed of hope and illumination,

and in my wretched imagination,

I wear the eternal disguise of rain.


© Original poetry by Denise Goodwin, Lady Denyse and moonspyre.blogspot.com; 
All rights reserved.