Telephone wires are tangled in the trees tonight
and the stars are copper colour,
as if scattered from a fountain
and Romeo is calling from beneath the balcony
of the Capulet family in Verona,
trying to get reception-
but the receiver is busy
moving on, and growing up-
Juliet, the girl he is calling, has a new phone
that she doesn't trust with unfamiliar numbers,
and his is listed 'unknown'
Unsent messages: *"goodnight
"goodnight- parting is such sweet sorrow,
that I shall say good night till it be morrow."*
The story of the star-cross'd lovers was no tragedy at is end.
Nobody died, nobody had to pretend
to die. They rarely think of one another now,
only from time to time do they wonder 'what if'
or regret the absence of a real goodbye.
Romeo never got the chance to defy the stars
Juliet never got the chance to contemplate him cut out in them
and neither of them got the chance to commit,
and neither of them took a chance with suicide.
Telephone wires in trees, copper stars-
-ghosts, wished on, shooting, burning far, far away-
Unspoken words: *"some consequence
yet hanging in the stars,
auspicious stars"*
(the fairest of them, he'd once found in her eyes)-
no reception, nothing received.
In this love story, nobody dies.
It is remembered as any other night before.
It was not long until where Romeo had come and gone
he'd left behind just a flicker of a frisson
in memory, growing distant,
gradual decay, and then
he was nothing more than threads to weave
the patchwork of a dream,-
hard to recall, a close call,
a near miss, a could-have been-
but it was harder, with time, to believe it was ever
the real love she yet knew nothing of
at the keen age of only thirteen.
It was Paris she fell for. The two were to marry
and for her bouquet that day, the flower she chose
to carry- for their romance and sweetness-
was the rose, and in her vows, she spoke of her love
being boundless and deep as the sea,
and infinite. All the wishes he'd made on stars
and coins in fountains had come to be.
Spoken words: "Have I thought long to see this morning's face..."
So many saved lives and one love lost and
a glooming sort of peace settled over
the star-cross'd streets of Verona.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
Telephone wires are tangled in the trees tonight
and the stars are copper colour,
as if scattered from a fountain
and Romeo is calling from beneath the balcony
of the Capulet family in Verona,
trying to get reception-
but the receiver is busy
moving on, and growing up-
Juliet, the girl he is calling, has a new phone
that she doesn't trust with unfamiliar numbers,
and his is listed 'unknown'
Unsent messages: *"goodnight
"goodnight- parting is such sweet sorrow,
that I shall say good night till it be morrow."*
The story of the star-cross'd lovers was no tragedy at is end.
Nobody died, nobody had to pretend
to die. They rarely think of one another now,
only from time to time do they wonder 'what if'
or regret the absence of a real goodbye.
Romeo never got the chance to defy the stars
Juliet never got the chance to contemplate him cut out in them
and neither of them got the chance to commit,
and neither of them took a chance with suicide.
Telephone wires in trees, copper stars-
-ghosts, wished on, shooting, burning far, far away-
Unspoken words: *"some consequence
yet hanging in the stars,
auspicious stars"*
(the fairest of them, he'd once found in her eyes)-
no reception, nothing received.
In this love story, nobody dies.
It is remembered as any other night before.
It was not long until where Romeo had come and gone
he'd left behind just a flicker of a frisson
in memory, growing distant,
gradual decay, and then
he was nothing more than threads to weave
the patchwork of a dream,-
hard to recall, a close call,
a near miss, a could-have been-
but it was harder, with time, to believe it was ever
the real love she yet knew nothing of
at the keen age of only thirteen.
It was Paris she fell for. The two were to marry
and for her bouquet that day, the flower she chose
to carry- for their romance and sweetness-
was the rose, and in her vows, she spoke of her love
being boundless and deep as the sea,
and infinite. All the wishes he'd made on stars
and coins in fountains had come to be.
Spoken words: "Have I thought long to see this morning's face..."
So many saved lives and one love lost and
a glooming sort of peace settled over
the star-cross'd streets of Verona.
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