and the dissipated night has begun to
fade from memories vision
along with its bone-weary malingerers
they huddle next to the rain soaked street
and chatter in quick quiet words
and animated gestures
about the hurrying passers by
but as the day wearys of its own labours
and begins its goodbyes
they fall to silent stationary watching
each lost in the raindrops
each drifting away in the separateness
each thinking of aspects of her haunted face
and about
the devout men hunched
over their labours
far in the abyss of night
deep in silence
the sharp ringing of hammer and chisel
the scratching on pen on paper
the whisper of brush stroke upon canvas
her opulent eyes watch the creations they labour upon
gather in the colours and the sensations of each
consumes the beauty of the hearts by
devouring with her soft skin
while her bone-weary malingerers slouch in the corner
with their quick quiet conversation nimbly dances
around her bent ear
and convinces her to abandon these perilous waters
she floats to the door as only a beautiful woman can
stumbling drunk but still appearing to the masses as regal
her malingerers follow close at hand
and as each crusades for her leather hands caress
a hundred devout men cease their labours
and look up at her departing entourage
with the envy only a devout man can feel
in unison a whisper quiet sigh escapes them
and stirs the flags of empire that hang from the walls
her opulent eyes decorate the mind
but its her hand that carves the soul
now years later having abandon her perilous ways
she is the only one huddled there by the rain soaked street
begging the the kind of change that isnt made up of coins'
and making quick quiet chatter within her own mind
as night and days shuffle before her throne of rain
and the world in its own way pays homage
to her regal decay
the rain soaked street pauses
from time to time
and she watches from her perch
no sadness skates behind her eyes
a life not necessarily well lived
but lived nevertheless