The Blond Assassin
“. . .The blond assassin passes on.
The sun proceeds unmoved . . .”
( from "Apparently With No Surprise" by Emily Dickinson)
A blond assassin was he, but not quite the same as the one
personified by the poet Dickinson; her assassin was the frost.
Mine had a similar cool veneer and a masquerade of beauty.
His heart, though, was ebony, and his soul was black as coal.
I and those other women, whom I’m certain he could hypnotize
so easily with a mere glance of his eyes' crystal blue,
were like the happy flowers in Ms. Dickinson’s short poem.
His power, like the frost’s over the flowers,
was hardly accidental, for he oozed confidence and charm.
Through my high school years, my desire for him burned crimson.
I laid my heart open, while his own, opaque, was impossible to read.
As he grew more and more aloof, I knew I had to suture my sad heart.
But the real death came later when he smashed my soul into obscurity.
On seeing me at college, his blue eyes were as icy cold as glass
as right through me they sliced!
Oh, for the once so happy flower of my youth!
6/2/17 for Laura Loo's Write Me Something Deep and Dark Poetry Contest
The ten Words used for this poetry contest: ebony/ obscurity/ masquerade/ aloof/ death/ hypnotize/ suture/ veneer/ crimson/ opaque
|