by Ashley Lane
Someone promised that wed invade a fortress
Tonight. We will take the picks and scale
The walls. Inside there should be a treasure.
There should be a votive candle skirting
The chamber with light. Flicker fancy lights
Would dance and tonight, Josephine, you were
Promised a city. The prophets swore you
Could enter these walls if you were willing
To climb the icy sides. You held your end
Of the bargain. By the crease in your brow,
You slipped through the window. The candle in
The glass votive taunts you with promises.
But all that resides in the flickering room
Is a note: Josephine, not tonight.
Posted on 07/04/2007
Copyright © 2022 Ashley Lane
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/27/08 at 03:47 PM|
A breathtaking poem - congrats on POTD!
|Posted by Richard Vince on 09/17/14 at 10:52 PM|
wow. i remembered the existence of this poem the other day, but what i had not remembered was how superb it is. no wonder you were the poet who inadvertently made me join Pathetic all those years ago. :)