her serenade

too good to be true

a latticed calm laved her flaxen hair,
the willing work of besotted zephyrs
for they too admire the creature’s pulchritude,
a glint among talented nature.
she took in the auras of the burgeoning plants,
patterning a messily congregated labyrinth
around what’s considered her bosky bank of refuge.
a vestal slate of queer serenity was her life,
so such a dulcified state was retained.

the ether would proffer translucent umbrellas
as if they could shield the innocent being
from what Stygian horrors were infecting the same species.
no precipitation would be visible to her
only the rouge tinted glaciers floating upon azures.

initially, she was inclined to adorn such simplicity
for she thought it only natural.
the being could go about the haven
chanting to mythical hymns whispered by nymphs
and leaving a damp trail
bestrewn with leaves of saturated green.

however, ennui and curiosity had begun encroaching
on the creature’s comfort and quiet.
her perception of the umbrellas shifted in a trance
from faithful affection to scorching ire.
she blamed her newfound discontent on the barriers,
thrashing her former companions aside.

the now sallow being drowned herself in dolor,
unaware of the fleeting ages.
her refuge assumed the form of a chamber
its features resembling the plain dirt her feet would pelt upon.
the zephyrs feared the screech of her plangent cries;
the plants, once hospitable companions,
abhorred her pungent stench.
so she chose the easy way, perhaps a creeping cacoethes
of greeting a truly unknown dimension
to allay the dull pains of nothing in particular.

dipping her branch-scratched feet into a lake à proximité,
the creature adjusted to the coolness and waded,
without a doubt or in her mind,
deeper into the fuscous water.
the coolness soon enveloped her shriveled body,
her teeth gritted and seething as her head bobbed about,
disappearing not long after.

the ether had no words,
the zephyrs had no chimes,
the plants had no emotions,
for a creature so tainted by muddied clots
and intoxicated by bane brewed with ungrateful greed.

it was a silent funeral.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Writergurl]

the ether had no words,
the zephyrs had no chimes,
the plants had no emotions,
for a creature so tainted by muddied clots
and intoxicated by bane brewed with ungrateful greed.

WOW! love the last stanza a lot, wonderful metaphors in this write

[Unspoken poet]

This is really good, I enjoyed this. loved the metaphors

[William Michael Reeves]

I can see that having a dictionary handy will help when reading you. That's some of the fun of poetry is getting those words out of the dusty pages of the dictionary and using them for something. Nice metaphors in your poem, if maybe a bit confusing in the expanse of your vocabulary. I'll look up the words I didn't know and read it again. Doing that is another part of the fun of poetry. Thanks for sharing it.