Ghost on a Lonely Lane
The harlot's ghost walked slowly by,Her platform shoes clicked on the pave,
I watch her when the inky sky
Turned dark above her unmarked grave.
Each night hard by the seedy bar,
When all grew quiet and the rain
Would block out every winking star
And drench the nearby lonely lane.
Both slim and tall she'd stand or sway
All up and down that midnight lane,
I thought it harsh for her to pay,
For such sins in the endless rain.
Her skirt so high, and in poor taste
And tight as ever tight could be,
And bare her supple well-toned waist,
Could this be her eternity?
One night when icy rain would pour,
I walked across the silent lane,
My heart began to pound and roar,
I asked her then to please explain.
She stared at me like no one had,
The sorrow in her eyes profound,
Her face so beautiful, so sad,
Her lips moved but there was no sound.
She threw her head back, tossed her hair
Which was quite dry in all that rain,
Her chest heaved then, feigned breathing air,
I sensed a world of mindless pain.
Her pretty hands placed on her hips,
She smiled a dreadful smile to see,
The oddest quiver in her lips,
She sighed to all eternity.
The night so cold, her arms where bare,
Her legs so muscular and lean
In life, for sure, was something rare,
A beauty that was seldom seen.
Her sadness so contagious then,
I hung my head that dripped with rain,
I left that tart and toward the fen
I walked across the narrow lane.
The fen just scarce a quarter mile,
Remote and solemn, undisturbed,
I walked through mud, sad, full of bile,
My very soul so deep disturbed.
Into the rainy bog I sank
Grim death was all that I could think,
That tart such bitter dregs she'd drank,
Such wine myself would I now drink!
I shook myself from my torpor,
Too late for to my chest I stood,
I cursed that tall and lovely whore,
I'd die within this swampy wood.
I felt cold hands hard like some vise
That pulled me free from death's cold grasp,
Those hands themselves as cold as ice,
I turned and saw her with a gasp.
She stood there dry as deserts vast,
A glad smile on her lovely lips,
No shadow on her face now cast
Her hands back on her lovely hips.
There in that rain I watched her fade,
Before me in that haunted fen,
Sometimes I think it some charade,
I never saw that ghost again.
Poetry by Achernar
Read 872 times
Written on 2010-02-23 at 14:41
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