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The Ghost of Bevali Gatenby
The white in this poem is black,
Resting somewhere on memory's cloud.
The remains of her ghost,
Are porcelain and stoic,
Living in nocturnal daylight.
Her heart beating faster in death,
Breathing, falling into patterns of life that exist
For those lucky or fortunate enough
To know the season of her grin.
The shadow of her limited light, that piercing ray of disobedience
Followed its own path, turning away from religion and rule.
Uninhibited and dangerous,
Peeking through that dark curtain,
Searching for darker men, keeping her terms a secret,
Hidden deep in the forest inside her heart,
Revealing only what she wanted us to believe.
Venus fell from her pedestal,
Longing for the scent of a kiss upon her breast.
She was the counter-balance of truth
that I longed for, clutching her spirit
In the love letters written in summers past.
Pushing and pushing, feeling her locomotion
Wanting more for me than I wanted for myself.
Her greatness, shattered by the despair she placed inside the bullet
That killed her, summoning the world to quietness.
God replaced her flesh with pictures and tears,
Leaving an empty seat in the classroom
For me to love.
© David T. Hunt 2011. All Rights Reserved.
Resting somewhere on memory's cloud.
The remains of her ghost,
Are porcelain and stoic,
Living in nocturnal daylight.
Her heart beating faster in death,
Breathing, falling into patterns of life that exist
For those lucky or fortunate enough
To know the season of her grin.
The shadow of her limited light, that piercing ray of disobedience
Followed its own path, turning away from religion and rule.
Uninhibited and dangerous,
Peeking through that dark curtain,
Searching for darker men, keeping her terms a secret,
Hidden deep in the forest inside her heart,
Revealing only what she wanted us to believe.
Venus fell from her pedestal,
Longing for the scent of a kiss upon her breast.
She was the counter-balance of truth
that I longed for, clutching her spirit
In the love letters written in summers past.
Pushing and pushing, feeling her locomotion
Wanting more for me than I wanted for myself.
Her greatness, shattered by the despair she placed inside the bullet
That killed her, summoning the world to quietness.
God replaced her flesh with pictures and tears,
Leaving an empty seat in the classroom
For me to love.
© David T. Hunt 2011. All Rights Reserved.
Published 9th Sep 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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