There is still a deep, dusty frost
on the overgrown lawn outside,
yet, the Winter sunshine
is dazzling and blindingly bright.
As she perches, with feet up
upon the left bay window seat,
between the heavy, velvet drapes
and breath-misted glass.
This is her ‘Quiet Hour’,
she shares only with strong coffee,
cigarettes and nostalgia.
She’s contemplating the ‘Circles’
which keep tripping her up
from the straight and narrow.
How to evade emotions
and still be contented is the thing?
Reining in affection
and keeping desires in check…
simply seems unnatural, wrong
and against the grain of everything
that the ‘Beating Heart’ should stand for?
She’s sat here every day for centuries,
hair and eye colour changing,
along with her earthly name.
Pondering, worrying and debating with herself
a delightful/deplorable Riddle
untouched by science, uncharted by maps…
which like a Victorian Penny Arcade
is all down to luck, chance and guess work.
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his book ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096.