Shards of a mirror lay,
Cast.
Under the cat's paw in her play.
And how she freed herself...
Clasped in the shades of the curtains Grey.
He chases many women in one,
One in many.
Man he lived like a liar.
Faked his charms and laid his own pyre.
There it broke into fragments,
His made-up fantasy.
Now she isn't any.
What Princess.
What Castle.
He called that to too many.
Many in one?
Or one woman in many?
From her Dream she awoke.
Long-lost in the moon's abode.
Old the bronze clock struck four.
The kiss was over and a hiccup rose.
Every shard is broken glory.
Reflecting her, as many.
One the little nursery rhyme,
Two the ripening fruit divine,
Three the dame of sinful crime,
Four he chased and stole her time.
What Princess.
What Castle.
He called that to too many.
Many in one?
Or one woman in many?
He chases many women in one,
One in many.
Man he lived like a liar.
Faked his charms and laid his own pyre.
The mirror sees,
Beauty's demise.
In fury's wicked grasp,
He destroys every piece of beautiful glass.
But she shines.
The woman who loved a wicked heart.
The woman I met last night.
Cast.
Under the cat's paw in her play.
And how she freed herself...
Clasped in the shades of the curtains Grey.
He chases many women in one,
One in many.
Man he lived like a liar.
Faked his charms and laid his own pyre.
There it broke into fragments,
His made-up fantasy.
Now she isn't any.
What Princess.
What Castle.
He called that to too many.
Many in one?
Or one woman in many?
From her Dream she awoke.
Long-lost in the moon's abode.
Old the bronze clock struck four.
The kiss was over and a hiccup rose.
Every shard is broken glory.
Reflecting her, as many.
One the little nursery rhyme,
Two the ripening fruit divine,
Three the dame of sinful crime,
Four he chased and stole her time.
What Princess.
What Castle.
He called that to too many.
Many in one?
Or one woman in many?
He chases many women in one,
One in many.
Man he lived like a liar.
Faked his charms and laid his own pyre.
The mirror sees,
Beauty's demise.
In fury's wicked grasp,
He destroys every piece of beautiful glass.
But she shines.
The woman who loved a wicked heart.
The woman I met last night.
Love is the most hardest to find... but betrayal is not...
ReplyDeletesome times when u meet those 'MEN' u need to lull them into you by u'r charm and then just show them wat it means to love and then lost :P
good poetry :)
Sounds good, including the repetition; has music.
ReplyDeleteWicked hearts are terribly attractive, though.
@niya Thanks for liking the poem. There are wicked women too,I believe betrayal is a state of mind and a matter of values.
ReplyDeleteTrue Love is surely the hardest to find dear.
Thanks for the appreciation :) tc.
@ Syed Thank you very much.
ReplyDeleteAll things truly wicked start from innocence.
Ernest Hemingway
:)
I love your poems
ReplyDelete@anym Thanks
ReplyDeleteInnocence touches your heart; wicked hearts arouse dark desires. And, the cocktail of beauty, brains and wickedness is just irresistible
ReplyDelete@ Syed, yes, but the definition of beauty and what is wicked and innocent changes from time to time. It varies from person to person...doesn't it? Like your post on reality rightly states that the truth is often not even sure of itself. :) just a thought.
ReplyDeletetc