Sunday, November 20, 2011

The Blind Violinist

Inside that mid night subway train
Heard a broken hearted lover play
Plucking strings so they could echo
Those mediocre tunes of utter dismay

Trying to fix her broken pendant, there she was
With her winter scarf wrapped around her neck
Remembering romance of yester nights
Hiding scars of bites and pecks

Dared he, began to play Mozart
Symphony fourty-Molto allegro
Entered E flat major in a haste
Not affecting the smooth flow

Lost in the sanctuary of sins
In that deep state of half asleep
With dreams resting on her eyelids
Of Starry les nuits à Paris

With a half soul, yet giving his best 
Lost in the melody with eyes closed
With a name of past love engraved
On that dusty broken violin's scroll

Her station Chester was next, they announced
She got ready to depart the train
Eyes on the door, heart somewhere in Paris
And walking dans central city in the rain

Lost in thought she walked past him
Her scent so familiar, J'adore it was
"Abby", screamed he, the blind violinist
His wounds still unprocessed and raw

"Mistaken you are", she replied impolitely
Doors opened, wind distributed her scent
He apologized for mistaken identity
Yet memory of past sorrows did augment

Of days full of hopelessness
And nights full of uncertainty
His lover's secret Ménage à trois
Away from his blind sight, a place so privy

The doors closed behind the woman
As she witnessed the train leave
Her pendant broke, landing in her hand
On it was the name engraved Abby

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Dorian Gray

In his limpid stillness he stands tall proudly
References made about his distinct beauty
Basil, an artist, secret admirer of the boy
Romantic soul, fearful yet half full of joy
With feelings unexpressed of admiration
Of illusive kisses, desires and temptation
Says Basil,"You have a part of me Dorian,
But you do not care for my pure affection",
While the boy with a stone heart and vanity
With heart breaker qualities and no sympathy
Asks the sinful artist that as his life begins to unfold
To let him stay young & let his painting grow old
"Let it take upon the punishment for my sins,
Allow it to suffer on my behalf somewhere within",
Enters Sybil, the local theatre actress, playing Juliet
Sparks grew, his name got engraved on her heart's slate
Rejection came when he failed to recognize any art in her
She died of love then and there which caused a stir
A life he spent in guilt, helplessness, yet with pride intact
Portrait aging, resembling evil, with beauty subtract
His divided existence based on absolute lies
A life then spent on edges of frailty and vice
Years passed, the evil grew more within
The darkness took over and purity forgotten
He became a murderer, killed the very artist
Who made him famous, a moment not his best
Debauchery took over, daily trips to the opium den
Remained intoxicated in the east end of London
His deal with the devil became over whelming
Fame, vanity, wealth all seemed unappealing
So he turned to the portrait he hadn't seen in ages
Saw ruminations of an unworthy wicked savage
He then stabbed the painting deep in the heart
Destroying the image, Basil's best work of art
As the soul deceased, so did Dorian
His face resembling a horror film villain
A life time spent on the tendrils of immorality
He paid the price of his venomous vanity