by Elin Lewis
Dull, the day, frozen, how
The dimming light is languishing.
Dull, the body, frozen, now
My fettered heart is anguishing.
Dull, the shadow of my room
Like a sorrowing silhouette,
Dull, the ever greying gloom
Of every single bright regret.
Dull, the fire, and the grate
Like the heaven’s rosy glow,
Dull, the flame we fornicate
And the hell that waits below.
Dull, the actors, and the stage,
Dull, each light-caught feathered mote,
Dull, each orchestrated page,
Dull, the opera singer’s throat.
Dull, the dusk and dull, the dawn,
Dull, December and July,
Dull, the eve and dull, the morn,
Dull, each tick that tocks on by.
Dulled, the wish and dulled, the dream
Now she screams a banshee’s curse
Dulled, the soul, once agleam
Now light falls on the blackened hearse.
The Pygmy Giant 
#1 by jennyP on September 22, 2012 - 9:05 am
I read this yesterday morning and it stayed with me all day. That consistent rhythm, the repetition, like a distant drum or heart beat. I loved it.