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Blue, Green, Red and Purple: Pavane Valentine

Betty Collins strives to convey the loss which is bigger than any words, bigger, almost, than human heart can bear.

My love is on the other side
of death’s divide:
sharp cruel death; oh tear aside
these cruel leaden walls
and let me be assured that somewhere yet
You wait for me.

In vain I scan the empty pages
of a book, demanding proof
that knowing that I hear you
calling through the sound-proof
wave-proof pall
is not the madness of defeated hope,
the echo of the heart’s blood
pounding in the vacant chamber
of my loneliness.

In vain my dragging steps
carry my tapping fingers to the doors
of blank-faced so-called mediums
telling me blandly ‘you are not alone’ -
and turning, drag me back,
oh more
defeated than before -
for in those hard and falsely polished rooms
you have no place.

Sadly I search
the wide and open places,;
desperately closet myself in darkness
praying that you come;
loudly in crowds my eyes
yearn restless for the known shapes and colours of your face -
(perhaps I shall see you walking down a street, or
turning suddenly,
surprise you there?)

Yet, love, I know the night Time set you free
He stopped for me -
and must I wait until the appointed hour?
And will you touch me when we meet?


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