SHE SHONE SILVER LIKE A STAR ☆


SHE SHONE SILVER LIKE A STAR

By the ferris wheel and then I danced by the painted galloping horses

Four-teen and twenty I saw my darling sweep by me wearing yellow on this day

Her cheeks flushed peaches pink with a smile bloody, full and charming

The pall, the pang of a wounded soldier caught and dangling from a wire tree

Caught like a baited bird, sore and swinging but with eyes wet and longing

The passion of the grey dawn is still fighting despite the night so blue behind me

Have I spent so much time writing songs to lose you to a word chipped or broken?

Or does the honest tale I copied from my night-time memory now betray me?

Be the sweet honest table upon which I lay my cotton shirt and my glass bullets cold

I could step out with you my sweetness and my crazy, I could walk tall beside thee

and taking your softest hand I hold your fingers warm and fragrant like petals orange

I also hold the day when for all the arrows falling, life had lost its meaning

We had talked of romance and laughter and flirted long the mystery of men and women

Mended nets, collected glowworms, sent skyrockets, danced with friends on a Tuesday

and made up tales where valiant vagabonds met warm breasted whores they ever trusted

Or spoke of falcons and embroidered waistcoats, lace bodices, the plumpest cooing doves

Then broke the frightened doe, she springing from a gnarled old thick-skin oak so callous

Sporting daisies, white convolvulus ever a lying stem and the poachers nettled sister

All these the summer sun greet meekly and hide in clenched fist with a mailed hand

When Rose-Marie, she walks the tightrope dressed from toe to top in bronzed curly gilt

saying so sweetly ‘These were only stories she could ever muster upon that loyal Wheel’

I could have been so many people for thee silver lady, we sure shone together for a day

and drew the poisons from the ransacked villagers ideas and scheming  opinion

A day washed in ginger and lemon, when prince’s fathers come to arrange dowry,

ponies wear flowered garlands and the urban streets even seem dressed in gold light

But for now it is well that this painted cabinet has been decked, daubed and decorated

Garments of fragrant and true broderie anglaise, washed and folded, tidied away

A book of watercolour, a notebook of honesty and the silver threads of the stallions mane

Who flies the sky, the drenched darkened night where Orion sits and counts his bounty

His honesty knows above all others that once she had shone silver more like a true star

written by edenbray 01.05.2012

But for now

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About edenbray

I've always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do... .. . I’m not sure why I stopped writing was it 9/11? .. . Eden Bray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life .. . I'm a Writer and Artist since 1966, now a Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . please join the shebang but more importantly please leave me a marker with a comment for my ego and my encouragement :- thanks, edenbray
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