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A poem for a lover. |
| Your eyes were like an early morning's pale blue sky Your lips were warm and soft and gentler than a god's Your words were like the greatest ode which love has known Your skin was fairer than an angel's holy wings And your embrace as tender as the sweetest song The kindest caress could not now restore my life As I am helpless in your arms for all the night No more than an empty shell when morning comes The life of me now drained away just like my love I am nothing but a hollow image of regret And you, my Brutus, my Judas Iscariot Have left me barren, bruised and broken-hearted Tell me, did you think of me when you took your pay? Were those thirty silver pieces worth your soul? ~*~ Part 2 of the 3 Poèmes de la Gare Montparnasse poetry cycle. |