- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Legend
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“It wasn’t pure, it never was’”
she whispered in anger, in sadness,
as she dipped her eyeliner brush
and swirled it above her face
in a wistful parasail ballet,
the black lines dancing
a graphic curve as her eyes
longed to flutter a monarch path.
Sadly, the stage was dark
the performance over, fans gone away
and all that remained of the years
was the face cream and cloth
as she wiped it all away,
the plot fading under
the prima’s tears and the words
she could only mouth silently
as she replayed her final bow.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozalmost 17 years agoOne of those excellent ones that deserves to be reread. The imagery here is complex and sets the imagination running.
Anonymousabout 17 years ago"as she dipped her eyeliner brush
and swirled it above her face
in a wistful parasail ballet"
A well crafted, solid poem. Excellent imagery (such as the lines above) and a finely honed metaphor.
I can't fault this
champagne1982about 17 years agoYou caught the bitter downward turn of life and lips. Great read! (thermometer set to glowing by my personal default)
