The Corset Sword
Blood breathes in an ancient bowl
Jewels are tossed with a splash
Rings form and grow reaching out to the soul
Outside winter winds sing their cry and dash.
Around the bowl candles burn at ease
To the left lays a corset
And to the right a sword
While above a caged dove sings.
And so which do I, will I, am I to love?
The question met with malicious silence.
By the ceasing of music from the trapped dove
Thus in C minor the orchestra commence.
This fills the air with ubiquitous passions
And depressions, in a dolorous harmony
A manner that allows no illusion
Anticipating the great epiphany.
The blood trembles at the orchestral sound
And the cage shatters and feathers scatter
Flying high beyond the notes the dove is unbound
And swoops down to grasp the hilt.
The corset burns as the candles tip
And into E flat major the orchestra slip
The dove unclasps the blade; it plummets into the bowl
And dissolves as the answers evolve.
The dove fades into the winter wind
And with this the orchestra silence
Realising what is now to be a personal oath
So for this life which am I to love, well both.
© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.