December 2, 2007 § Leave a comment
She killed herself for love, its final touch;
Perhaps, she loved the wrong man way too much.
Like Cleopatra to Julius Caesar,
She’ll never be with him spite folie à deux.
He couldn’t tell heaven from hell–
Those blue skies from pain casting a spell…
The final chapter drove her insane.
His soul was not touched, blinded by vain.
By his lips-by her dreams, lying on grass-
I recall looking though some glass.
Oh, the story how she lost her head…
The Queen, sweet dreamer; her life unread by my bed…
I remember her name, just not from books;
She holds the heart of the lonely, angels and crooks.
So softly, she sings for them a Winter’s Love Song;
But, what went wrong all nightlong, summerlong, lifelong…?
Could he never see the women who admired him so…
For Beauty sake, why didn’t he just say “Hello…”?
© Sonya Rose