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.
