Standing beneath the lamppost,
We watched the swans upon the river.
Just the two of them
And the two of us,
After an evening at the theatre.
As a poet, I adore swans -
The symbolism, the beauty,
The pure artistry
Of such majestic beings;
I'd almost composed
A stanza or two in my mind
Before you said we should get moving
Before we freeze.
I hadn't even noticed the alleged cold,
But we began to walk again.
The thought of taking your hand into mine
Lingered even once dismissed,
But you led me away from the swans,
And your perception that it was cold
Seemed like such deliberate foreshadowing
That I would be a fool to ignore it,
So I let my desires slide.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
