Ballade for a Honeycomb Heart
We should pity the heart of stone
(Honeycomb when she was a child).
Once so beloved she died alone--
She toyed with boys in ways once mild.
When toys changed to men she beguiled.
Men stepped through her revolving door,
Saw love and trust had gone mad-wild.
Her hands reached in hope nevermore.
Honeycomb heart turned lust's gemstone
(Her tender core cut and defiled).
Before she bloomed her seed was sown
By one she so loved then reviled.
Hurt upon hurt like cells were tiled,
She numbed pain with bitter rancor;
Paybacks plenty she planned and styled.
Her hands reached in hope nevermore.
Once seen a queen she died a crone
(Chic hair twist gone gray and unpiled
Hourglass shape drained to rag and bone).
Salon hostess was street exiled;
She would not beg where no one smiled.
They passed her by, that washed-out whore;
A death report was later filed.
Her hands reached in hope nevermore.
The heart that beats in her grandchild
Is blessed, asks not why or wherefore
She comes to this grave, as if wiled.
(Her hands reached in hope nevermore.)
MLydiaM ~ February 2012
Submitted as a combo for:
Mag 103 (hosted by Tess Kincaid -- image: a grave at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow). Many more Magpies at the link...
and
dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll, hosted this week by Gay Reiser Cannon, whose prompt is to compose a French Ballade (please click link for description and information, along with links to ballades written by more brave souls!).
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