Folds of Green Brocade
An interval of quietude; she sleeps,
caressed by copper curls in silk cascade.
Observing beauty in her calm, he weeps,
remorseful of impassioned hands he laid.
From searching eyes, secluded pain she hides,
within her mind, love's solemn vow replayed.
Through purest skin, dark cast of anger rides,
wrapped safely 'neath soft folds of green brocade.
Breath falls, as into endless void she slips,
unable to withstand the next tirade.
A tear-stained note in resting hand she grips,
'My love, forgive the final choice I made'
03/20/2009
I decided to resurrect this write after reading The Highlander's excellent poem 'She Internally Weeps'.
A similar theme but quite a different outcome.
Copyright © Sharon Tideswell | Year Posted 2010
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