Poetry
In her silent eyes . . .
Through the twilight zone, through mist and haze
She plods on, as sunray and cloudshade play
Hide and seek with the dreamland of her face.
A tired face, with exhausted contentment, is poetry
The world reads this wild afternoon. Tales of huge glamour are writ on that tired face
And epic grandeur rises through skin that glows
In rising scales of charisma through those pores.
Exhaustion becomes her as it became Cleopatra,
On that ancient shore of patient waiting. In her silent eyes glow the lights of distant shores;
The bustle of traders in old fabled cities, the songs
Of women in the passion of unending youth are
Heard. Babylon speaks of Alexander in the refinement
Of her skin. Her smile drips Mediterranean melody. The swan in her rests in the music of spring leaves
Even as drowsiness seeps into her tired eyes. Along the
Length of that fine neck run streams of noonday
Aspirations. Beautiful hauteur sets a crown of luminosity
On her nose. I watch the nose . . . and wonder.
She plods on, as sunray and cloudshade play
Hide and seek with the dreamland of her face.
A tired face, with exhausted contentment, is poetry
The world reads this wild afternoon. Tales of huge glamour are writ on that tired face
And epic grandeur rises through skin that glows
In rising scales of charisma through those pores.
Exhaustion becomes her as it became Cleopatra,
On that ancient shore of patient waiting. In her silent eyes glow the lights of distant shores;
The bustle of traders in old fabled cities, the songs
Of women in the passion of unending youth are
Heard. Babylon speaks of Alexander in the refinement
Of her skin. Her smile drips Mediterranean melody. The swan in her rests in the music of spring leaves
Even as drowsiness seeps into her tired eyes. Along the
Length of that fine neck run streams of noonday
Aspirations. Beautiful hauteur sets a crown of luminosity
On her nose. I watch the nose . . . and wonder.
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