Vissid'arte

 

 

Vissid’arte

 

The Cathedral hall stood still

Bathed in misty amber light

 

An altar garnished in floral bouquet

Dresses the altar floor

Six tall white candles stand in unison

Three on each side of a gold gilded cross

 

Death’s angel stands poised

Graceless like a black swan

Stands out against the backdrop

Of the Cathedral’s majestic arch

 

The incensed musty air suggests an aching,

A longing, a foreboding, for this creature so elegant

To lifts her head…hands cupping her stomach

As if to nurture her child still unborn

 

Her first note is the mournful, longings of birth.

A cry from the womb

A mother, a daughter, a lost little girl

 

She is woman serenading her scoundrel lover

Who has betrayed her trust

She pleads in song, every emotion of her petal crushed heart

Yielding to his non-existent compassion

Arms now opened wide

Her feathers shimmer in the cool night air

Exposing her broken insides

 

Yet he just sits there, unmoved, untouched

By his lovers charms…

Still she pleads on

Still she yearns to be touched by his hand

Her voice steady, filled with pain and abandon

Her hair pulled back to show veins so taught on her rubenesk neck

Like mother nature’s femininity

She is not adorned with makeup or finery

Just a natural plumage she wears so beautiful

Stands swaying like a reed at the grave side of her death.

 

He stands his manly stance

Walks over like the devil, nonchalant.

Unbuttons his heavy coat as if ready to abuse her

Looks disdainfully at his angel,

Still he says not a single word.

 

 

Her voice rises then falls like a lost empire

Only to rise once more to a pain filled crescendo,

One last attempt to regenerate her dying love

A modern day Maria Callas, Mother Mary mourning her dead son

 

He then answers with a rasping baleful voice

Saying, now, “it is finished,”

To a reply a lullabied hushed tone

Lifting the last handfuls of dirt

Filling the void in this darkened vile earth.