avatarRigópoula T Tsambounieris

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Abstract

t smell of freshly starched tears,</p><p id="c660">Those half hearted prayers, of happy endings, a litany more for myself</p><p id="3981">than for you,</p><p id="ad41">because, my eternity is wide awake and searching for peace from the</p><p id="a7b5">ever prodding your memory has taken to hobby, and you dream —</p><p id="f027">reaching out, like the cloying scent of a subtle night flower,</p><p id="9cf1">pulling at those loose threads that I had tucked you to rest in,</p><p id="94a8">I don’t understand your obsession with eternity and all these rumours</p><p id="e12b">that mill on of forever and ever…</p><p id="7abf">It seems the copse has made your acquaintance, far longer then I, or</p><p id="1afc">eternity ever will — but will she ever love you much as I do?</p><p id="c4bd">Ask her? But I know she will lie, or you just won’t answer — because you</p><p id="16fe">lie still beneath the knees my mind prays upon</p><p id="9179">your freize framed cenotaph, sightless, has acquired a fixation of</p><p id="a5a4">smiling, yet</p

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<p id="f5bc">deaf to my arrival, your eyes fixed on some faraway pasture,</p><p id="877a">sodden and sowed with the midnight green of everlasting grief</p><p id="44ca">I plead that you speak to me, but your smile erects a barrier, freezing me</p><p id="417f">in place, exactly where you intended —</p><p id="9e6c">to ponder this eternity you chose, as you toil in the pastures on</p><p id="b842">the fringes of your steadfast vision — watered with the tears of our paradise lost</p><p id="5221">your,</p><p id="767f">obsession on the fringes of my awake, your half-mooned smile stirring</p><p id="18d8">the promise you broke — which eternity held you to —</p><p id="462a">that one lonely</p><p id="4d30">daffodil blooming in the garden of my bouquet, you scented with the</p><p id="8b30">finality — I refuse to honour with your name…</p><p id="b9c7"><i>The presentation of one daffodil, connotes misfortune.</i></p><p id="d17d">Copyright ©. <a href="">R Tsambounieri Talarantas</a>. May 18, 2020. All Rights Reserved.</p></article></body>
Photo by Katherine McCormack on Unsplash

Misfortune

You lie by the copse upon the tomentose fringes of sleep, the

filaments of my ebony

mournful strands still strewn vibrantly upon your bed of repose , as

vibrant as that day you thieved them for your company, as I bartered my soul

that you may again awake in the safety of my chimera,

Your blanket marks that demense — I’m tortured with what your

last thoughts were or — -they may have been the first of your last

“Eternity”, it reads, the eternity we dress with scentless sprigs of hope,

and sabbath espéras that smell of freshly starched tears,

Those half hearted prayers, of happy endings, a litany more for myself

than for you,

because, my eternity is wide awake and searching for peace from the

ever prodding your memory has taken to hobby, and you dream —

reaching out, like the cloying scent of a subtle night flower,

pulling at those loose threads that I had tucked you to rest in,

I don’t understand your obsession with eternity and all these rumours

that mill on of forever and ever…

It seems the copse has made your acquaintance, far longer then I, or

eternity ever will — but will she ever love you much as I do?

Ask her? But I know she will lie, or you just won’t answer — because you

lie still beneath the knees my mind prays upon

your freize framed cenotaph, sightless, has acquired a fixation of

smiling, yet

deaf to my arrival, your eyes fixed on some faraway pasture,

sodden and sowed with the midnight green of everlasting grief

I plead that you speak to me, but your smile erects a barrier, freezing me

in place, exactly where you intended —

to ponder this eternity you chose, as you toil in the pastures on

the fringes of your steadfast vision — watered with the tears of our paradise lost

your,

obsession on the fringes of my awake, your half-mooned smile stirring

the promise you broke — which eternity held you to —

that one lonely

daffodil blooming in the garden of my bouquet, you scented with the

finality — I refuse to honour with your name…

The presentation of one daffodil, connotes misfortune.

Copyright ©. R Tsambounieri Talarantas. May 18, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

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