[Poem] Stranded

[Andrea]

<center><b>Stranded</b>

She once knew a boy with watercolored eyes,
Bells for laughter and diamonds for smiles.

She used to walk down silent streets,
Nimble tiptoes so she could be discreet.

They said she carried her heart on her sleeve,
Trudging along down those paved streets.

One sunshine dusted day she came home,
And found that the watercolor-eyed boy was gone.

For days she searched passionately,
For nights she cried almost desperately.

The years gone, passed her by,
But time her love did not give her back.

Sorrow turned a pretty girl into a woman,
Turned her wonderful dreams into a plan.

She planned on going out to town,
Of walking the line through the crowd.

She would carry her torn heart on her hands,
Her body, empty, would wait on the sand.

Trade shows, carnivals and parades,
All hungry for the broken heart of the slave.

Desperate to buy, greedy for the sale,
A black heart, dead, dark and stale.

Minutes turned to hours, heartbeats long gone,
She closed her eyes and wished to be left alone.

She had the same clothes she wore,
Same clothes she wore on his last day.

Her hair had grown white, limp and long,
Her mind tipped, empty and forlorn.

They offered her pennies for a black heart,
And on the side, for a love, a contract.

No pact, the girl thought, her voice mute,
Her woes, long-suffered, were too acute.

Yet, the same dress she wore, torn rags,
Just in case her boy would someday come back.

Desperate, alone, so very tragic and unhappy,
Cynical and heartbroken, she sat solitary.

She withered away to sparkling dust,
Floating into the sea with the breaking dawn.

The pretty girl with the heart of molten gold,
Was shattered into stars and sold.

Her boy, a mystery, she couldn't recognize,
A sad disappearance, she too late realized.

And so she left, the grieved heartbroken,
Through the town, people of her spoke often.

She turned into a martyred goddess,
Grieve-stricken by the love she couldn't possess.

Once a woman, now a minute myth,
Folk stories retelling her sorrowful split.

But no one would ever forget the girl of joy,
Who had loved so dearly her precious boy.</center>

[The Angry Angel]

Very lovely, Andrea. Tons of interpretations going on in there, and I LOVED all the figurative language and symbolism. Just lovely.

I saw it two ways as sort of choosing a walk of life. Being young and finding an object to love, and then suddenly bereft of that love, and then striving all [her] life to find it back or something equivalent to it, but ultimately it was a fruitless and tragic journey. It has that tragic beauty going on; in loving someone all one's life so selflessly and single-mindedly, and chasing it to the end, but as a result/consequence, she wasted away pursuing some long past incarnation of love. And for it she never lived for herself, or her own goals----yet, wasn't her dream the young, childhood boy in the first place? And so in a way she really did live for him, and die for all that she loved and wanted. The figurative language was the best part! Such a sad poem, but so so lovely.

Gah! Hope you don't mind me gushing my thoughts! Yeah, I know I should go scribble my own lines instead crawling in and out all over yours. My bad.

So lovely!

[Andrea]

This is why I adore your reviews so much. You're always so direct and precise and you can tell you've really given it much thought. Of course you can ramble. Babble your heart out! I've always written poems consisting of symbolism and referrences inteded for interpretation. One person might take it one way, but another might think the complete opposite.

Thankies very much for always reviewing, you're the absolute best.