Fury of the Scorned
Fixed atop the crag, she stands with sapphire eyes that pierce the foggy gloom
I toss her raven locks about and whisper softly through the intoxicating silk
Gooseflesh rises on smooth, alabaster flesh as I turn again to blow a kiss
My breath feathering softly with icy caress against her warm and perfect cheek
The temptress seems to notice not as I linger with frigid fingers at tender nape
Then grip her woolen sleeves, urging her to seek the source as I lament
She remains at the ledge, unhindered by my attempts to gain her perception
Contented and serene she waits for he who gives her confidence in love
Her beauty is such that all forces of nature take notice and leave their rightful place
To coax the enchantress in ways that cross over the boundaries of element and matter
As my beguiled self seeks to grasp the soul within her bosom and selfishly claim it
From a most formidable foe; a man that has captured her priceless heart for his own
Her rich and heady scent I breathe, so lovely she appears, and though I am unseen
I will be heard and shall be felt once she is snared within my undulating trance
For beneath the cliffs where she waits for her love I command the sea to surge
Up close to where she stands…and she glimpses me for one glorious moment
Then it is gone.
As he approaches, her countenance changes; rapture plays across her elegant face
Proudly he beams and an audible sigh escapes his lips as he strides nearer to the edge
Where the object of his deep desire stands alone on the jagged precipice; the cliff
This piques the jealous side of me. I wonder, "What if… I now bring an enormous gale?"
Inspired by Christie Moses’ contest, The Many, Voices of the Wind (December, 2008)
Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2008
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