The Belle of Remembrance

Hanging by a wistful glance

He spoke to me on a summer night

Sang me songs of love and light

Whispered words so sweet and clear

In tones that danced upon my ears

 

He begged me to let him impart

A claim upon my ragged heart

You will be mine, a treasure true

All my life I’ve searched for you

 

We danced through days of storm and song

The home to which I now belonged

Lay far from where I now reside

The mountains blue and river wide

 

The broad blue sky and flat expanse

Lent not itself to true romance

How soon he went from kind to cruel

And I became a willing fool

 

Days of splendor in the sun

Turned to nights spent all alone

The cold became a silent shroud

A grief too great to speak aloud

 

The lover bold and Master true

Left me there for someone new

I could not think, could not draw breath

As inconstant love met certain death

 

He’s buried now beneath that sky

I never got to ask him why

My words are silent, my heart is still

He never answered, he never will

 

-Zoe Richardson 

Author's Note

If you want something, say so. Suffering in silence is not a virtue.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Wonderful poetic expression here, rhyme and meter. A love story which started with much promise that went into decline and turned, like sour milk. Communication is key says I. You remind me of how fond I am of classical, lyrical poetry. I found that here Zoe.

Chris

[Zoe Richardson]

How right you are, dear Chris. When a person is a world unto themselves, it's hard to fix the problems that arise. No matter how compatible you are, or how much love exists between you, if you don't communicate the relationship dies. I think you have paid me one of the highest compliments I ever received. I fell in love with classical, lyrical poetry when I was a young child. It is what comes naturally to me, and what I enjoy writing most.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This brought up both feelings of recognized frustration and sadness. We sometimes wonder why others don't feel as we feel. Are they numb? Are they indifferent? Even the pragmatist questions their motives, let alone the empath. And every poet must be a sort of an empath, I believe, to feel for others the things for which they have no words and try, sometimes with little success, to put them down in verse. We will be ridiculed for feeling anything at all by the jealous monsters among us and criticized for our lack of perfection from those who fail to even try. But we endure because we have no choice but to write. We have no choice but we do have a voice and while it may not always sing the sweetest song; it is a song that belongs to us. I so enjoyed the read. F.

[Zoe Richardson]

I've often been criticized as unfeeling, usually by people who want their feelings to be the most important things to everyone around them. I don't do empathy well, and I admit that. I don't know what someone is feeling without their input because people are complicated. They conceal and put on masks. While I can't predict emotions, I am darn good at commiserate and lifting someone's mood. I can put myself in someone's shoes and see their side when others blanketly condemn. This serves me well as a poet and a person.

[M. J. Smith]

Ain't no reason for cruelty. Nothing but a power trip. Hallowed ground's too good a grave for some people.
Miss Zoe, if an old drifter's words are worth anything, Don't wallow in grief. Did that too long and nearly let life pass me by. Used to be a line on T-shirts when I was young: God don't make no junk!

[Zoe Richardson]

I don't wallow anymore. But when someone dies, even after years pass, sometimes the grief jumps up and slaps you cross-eyed. It may only last a moment, or an hour, or an afternoon. That's when I write it down and let it go! Thank you for your kind words and thoughtful advice. They keep me looking forward!

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful tale in the poetry dear Zoe.
"He’s buried now beneath that sky
I never got to ask him why
My words are silent, my heart is still
He never answered, he never will"
I loved the ending lines above. I know too much silence now. I wanted to be Hemingway once, now I want to be Salinger. Funny how we become different people. Thank you dear friend for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Zoe Richardson]

I never wanted to write great novels. Fiction is not my strong suit. I wanted to write romance novels and make tons of money. Poetry, however... I used to want to be Emily Dickinson. Now I want to be Keats!

[Coyote Poetry]

Good goals dear Zoe. I have wrote about everything. One day, I will decide my final goal.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I just hate it when people fool us as to what kind of persons they are...
Phoniness is such a negative virtue.
but to get off that ride is not to abide with that kind of change.
powerful write, Zoe,
j.

[Zoe Richardson]

Phoniness, yes. That is true. But in this case, the person wanted something in particular and lacked the insight to know what that was and the ability to communicate it. Relationships were like shoes, cast aside if they didn't fit and instantly unwanted if they did. Thank you for your compliments and kindness. It is always a pleasure when you stop by.

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

You held my attention to the end of this poem. Every stanza's thematic rhymes were engaging to read. "We danced through days of storm and song" is one of my favorite lines. And the note first perfectly with the ending of your poem. Wonderfully explained and expressed. tyfs

[Zoe Richardson]

Thank you, Cyprian! I try to draw the reader in, create a relatable experience, and then end on a note that stays with them. Most of the time, though, I just let the words fall out as they will. It is always a pleasure to know when they hit home and resonate. I appreciate your thoughtful comments, and the time you spend reading.

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

It feels like I wrote this reply, I agree with you totally.