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It had to collapse on that frail evening,
under myriads of words and dawns
so soft,
under one word too late...
in the midst of (still) lingering wonder and
before
the night of decision
which thus had not to be taken.
It had to end before God's wrath blew,
to end unnoticed, he imagined.
She thrived on the cliché of absolute Love,
he starved and chose a meal of lentils.
.
I like the style of this.
Thank you neilgee, it was made as a result of the crush between expectations (thus brought to awareness) and reality... there is a lot of ridicule in it.... and sure a warning of how easily is one taken by gravity ...
It's a somewhat strange poem in an interesting way, delicate, as if you were holding the words in a forceps before setting them down, and the ending is both sad and strong.
Thank you PrinceMyshkin, some time ago, I wrote a short poem about how a foetus poem, stuck at the edge of my mind, had to be helped out with a forceps to live.