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14:39, 09 мая 2010

The Lady

Подражание Броку, на самом деле, потому как вдохновлялся его Five Ways to Kill a Man.

She's sliding just an inch above
The stone floor of someone's old
Estate. The dusk highlights the bluff
Upon which all the winds in summer blow cold
And dusty paintings of a pier and wharf;
To that we'll add the view of half a world
From that small window perched upon the wall.
She walks and cloud of dust forms up behind
In wicked manner of a broken doll
Which's left forgotten, torn apart and blind
Until the mistress deems it fair to call
Or 'till she just forgets. But that is fine
By dust, for it's a loyal servant mostly left
Unspoken to and for and by and of. Besides,
It stands yet unaccused - for now - of theft,
The guilt though, frankly, spills over its eyes
Where not a single being dares to look. Bereft
Of purpose as the Lady hurries past, it hides.
Just for another century or two, or less,
Or, bound as it is, for an eternity of silent
And grey self-analysis and digress.
For that they both have undisputed talent.
She's got a lot to say and to confess
In. Mayhaps in a while,
A soul kind enough approaches the doors
To find the warmth among the autumn night.
In vain. A proud and noble Lord
And flea-ridden peasant all alike
Nor even King's Own Guards with steeds and swords
Shall never see the rusty gates thrown wide.
The only sign that they may hope to get
Is rather simple, albeit still enough.
The Lady sings to them. The scene is set,
It's dusk and manor and the windy bluff.
Her voice comes out weak, but chill as ice.
Before you enter, reconsider. Twice.

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