Rapunzel

[hallaig]

Rapunzel



My love is not my love.
From the thorns I heard her sing
and now I am blind for it.
I cannot see the light in her hair
as she walks those high walls,
nor the Prince she lifts.

My love is not my love,
though however far away,
I hear her song.
Like birds it’s in our souls to sing,
but there are walls and thorns,
princes and princesses.

My love is not my love.
Here is the sundering world,
its vastnesses, atom upon atom,
and here like the piping
of a single starved songbird
is the love we share, and do not have.

[everyadventure]

Hmm, quite different from the other poems of yours I've read. To be honest, I would do away with all but the last 5 lines. The beginning of the poem feels, well, a little trite and predictable. It's the ending that holds truth and substance, and those lines are glorious. But I'm known for hatcheting down poems to nothing but essence, so feel free to ignore me. :)

[PrinceMyshkin]

There is mystery, of course, throughout this, in the recurrent first lines, restated in that enigmatic final line; and I am grateful for the ballad form in this.