Rubber gloves hide my angelic hands,
clonking,crashing,cutlery and crocks,
slowly,monotonous,day by day,
drain my plate-manipulating life away.
A blazing dress,hope-fringed before,
drops shapeless into the laundry basket.
Hair once sunlit-brushed,lies lifeless,
dead as last years television news.
A heart that skipped to love's whisper
now only hears retreating beats.
Nagging aches replaced desire to share,
a rotten tooth that can't be pulled.
Dull windows wait for life to come
but,kitchen routine still rules
every corner,the silence chills me
with a frozen solitude.
The warmth of human touch comes only
from the dying remnants of a fire,
or something daily on the box.
Pots and pans soon wreck all romance,
or blissful dreams of life fulfilled.
Perfect kitchen kills youthful freedom,
fitted cupboards make my shroud.
Words Of The Rose
The words drip onto the page like
blood from my fingertips.The ink is
as red as the petals of any bloody rose.
I search for the words in my mind,
but find only the thorns in my heart.
When the leaves were new and green in
colour my words of love flowed and raced
across my page;they danced and took flight
as light as any winged bird.The small
young buds brought hope for the beautiful
Flower to come.My words are now full and
open and they reach to embrace the empty
page,like petals embracing the sunlight,
stretching and opening in all their glory.
Slowly,the long stem of thorns begin to
Tear my words to shreds.And they fall
like red snowflakes,as my page begins
to bleed.No longer is there a fragrance of
summer love.Only a smell of death and
decay,as the petals begin to fall.
A lingering scent of love surrounds this heavenly gown,
Hiding the stale and stagnant odour below.
Windows of ivory hide the plain cloth that lies beneath.
Dancing jewels catch the light,creating a picture of untold glory,
But the coloured glass lies hidden.
White innocent frills dance as if they were the composer's notes
To be ordered this way and that.
But that will come later!
A halo for a headband watches and waits to see the scene complete.
Slowly and serenely the gown comes to life as if touched
By God's whisper,only to be swept away by man's feeble expectations.
An angelic veil protects the virginal face,like some spiritual spectre
Rather than a bride to be.
But only real blood rushes through these veins.
Soft satin slippers wrap themselves around delicate ankles
To protect work-worn feet.
Long flowing sleeves hang like the wings of an angel,
Ready to transport the bride through the gates of marital bliss!
With the unquestioning bridal train following slowly behind.