She Sits Beguiled and Alone
It's a long, long way down the park,
but she’s deeply inclined, inclined
to roam hover or linger
among webs of an inky fog
just like her mashed hair: and sepia eyes
ignore jagged blinks of lamp lights
climbing inside a mind.
As she sits alone on a bench to crumple
near nuptial's farewell letter, her delicate face
bows like a waylaid nightingale--
juxtaposed by the many drones
of sullen notes almost lost in a haze
along paths searching for mirth, searching mock.
Beguiled, bothered, bruised through darkness;
her hidden sobs yell wildly at Eve's moonglow.
Written for Eve Roper's She Sits Alone Contest
Syllable Count: 138
8/11/2017
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2017
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