#shalott
Jewelled lights
Inner city
Urban sunsets lookin' pretty
A Tower block rapunzel
hair spun from ghetto gold
15th storeys high
and the stories gettin' old
No knight is waiting
A million dreams are broken
the lift is out of order
Hope seems a foolish notion
Isolation is her captor
the city her disorder
***********************
Throwin' caution to the sky gods
She dresses in her armour
Advances down the stair well
Into inner city drama
On the 29 she takes a seat
looks straight ahead
Smile painted on.
The day she greets
***************************
At dusk again, in towered gloom
Moon illuminates her room
Stitching up torn, tired seams
of abandoned.
Long lost dreams.
Her heart.
Already healing
Urban warrior forever
One day she'll leave this jungle.
Maybe. Who knows.
Whatever.
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 7:53 AM UTC
"'I am half-sick of shadows,' said the Lady of Shalott."
-Lord Alfred Tennyson
…but half of her bends towards them,
these whispered tableaus, her spine tilting backward.
She carefully hordes them
like granules of opal. Her hands become lacquered
in half-dreams and dyes,
and her tapestry spins into colors so rich
even she is surprised
that her fingers have laced every cross, every stitch.
She is sick of half-shadows;
she wants the thick darkness to drown her whole essence.
These sparkles and dayglows
will stir her to madness in milky-white crescents,
and she will sink into nothing
without any name on the heirlooms she weaves;
She will fade into nothing,
and no shadows will weep on the day that she leaves.
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 12:09 PM UTC