Cold Blue Lips
The sky is black as liquid ink with not a star,
Hushed and silent is the forest this dark night;
I walk a snow covered path seeking him,
The tangled intertwined branches creaking.
Groaning under heavy precious crystal icicles,
That dangle suspended like brilliant chandeliers;
The harsh, wild wind takes my long raven hair,
And my purple gown presses against me.
Every night I walk this cold, lonely forest path,
I come willingly and without any fear for my soul;
Even though I know that he is the undead,
His voice, his scent, his beauty devastating.
I have no strength to fight the love that I feel,
In a distant clearing he stands waiting for me;
His dark flowing hair blows wildly in the winter wind,
His skin so pale it mingles with the falling snow.
I am somehow floating, drifting into his sweet embrace,
And his dead, cold blue lips are at last on mine;
In a frozen kiss and I am lost in total utter rapture,
The wind is swirling and twisting and turning.
And I find myself in bed . . .
________________________
May 22, 2014
Poetry/Narrative/Cold Blue Lips
Copyright Protected, ID 05-568-308-22
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Submitted to Standard Contest 258,
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 05/2014
First Place
______________________________
Submitted to the Premier contest, Best Poems,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton,
Second Place
________________________________
Submitted to Best Love Poems,
sponsor, Poet Destroyer,
Second Place
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