Phantom Kisser-
A masquerade ball was in full concert when
A charming young man stepped in
He bore a green tunic with gold trim
Mask devilish with a wry grin
His mask bore five feathers atop his brow
In full view of the whole of the crowd
The music stopped and no servant bore his name
No mark of royalty or note of fame
Who is this man whispers a girl
A mystery man, man of the world
His eyes a radiant green breaching the mask
The music starts with a nod no questions asked
His manner quite and shy though confident
Both hands resting behind his torso defiant
Utterly refusing any hand placed before him
A mission is what makes him grim
One girl and only one is his treasured fox
She is sitting at a table near the clocks
A common girl young enough for school
A starving pain runs through him almost cruel
A slow melody is played by the maestro
The gentleman gaze at him to and fro
A hand his placed before her tired eyes
Shear delightful sounds as she cries
An angry man in a red mask stalks toward them
When an older woman steps in front of him
“Let them go” She says
“Why should I” eyes furiously red
To the center of the dancing floor they stroll
The beat picks up with a flick from maestro
Soft beats sound as they come together
Then silence…..weightless like a feather
A dazzling dance wows the place
Enough so to put awe on each face
After the last step and last beat coincide
Their masks come up no more reason to hide
Their lips meet and cheers break out
Like those at a fight awaiting the bout
The commotion was too much for the old man
He stumbled forward to greet the brigand
A chase commenced with the house guards
Even some of the house bards
The Youngman fell and was detained quickly
Then a sound arose from the courtyard sickly
The sound of a sword piercing flesh
A pool of blood and a mess
Unveiling his mask bore only a lad
At this the old man felt sad
The young girl never knew what became of him
Her father detailed his absence to be of a decided whim
In reality he survived after his body was left for dead
A long fever and a month in bed
A preacher picked him up and healed his impaled breast
With medicine and well needed rest
He awoke later to a dream of his lady fair
When he smelt the perfume of roses in the air
A second chance the preacher stated
Yes it was not to be he debated
Now he is an old man sitting and writing this tale
Letting my grandson know not to bail
For I will leave it in my will for his eyes only!
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2006
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment