The Great White Blancmange Of God
Clutched against her breast
Two maps of Bucharest
She hurries for the gate
Fearing she'll be late
Final boarding call
Murmuring an Ave--softly, half in jest--
Gazing at the statue on the wall
She wonders if she's doing what is best
Clutching to her seat
She feels the rhythmic beat
Of wheels along the track
No chance of going back
Whistle blows ahead
She wonders - "Have I made the right decision?"
The hasty dash - no time to make provision
What fate awaits? Where is she being led?
Clutch of eggs all safe
(Stolen from a homeless waif.)
She settles down to sleep
Trying to count sheep--
"Bucharest Next Stop!"
She wakens with a start--beholding a face
She once adored. "The other shoe must drop,"
He silkily suggests. She knows her love is base.
Clutching at his sleeve,
She knows she soon will grieve
He seems to know her mission--
To seek his apparition
He leads her to the street
She wonders--can she ever bring herself to leave?
(Old habits are the hardest ones to beat.)
The past and present start to interweave
| Contributors: | N, loaf, F, Big Andy, Beefy, Karin, Apsley, Herb, willh, willlh. |
| Poem finished: | 7th December 2003 by Anon.. |