The Red Silken Dress
There's a red silken dress
Hanging up on my wall,
With cascades of lush fabric
Swaying in sinuous folds,
As i gaze upon its enchanting beauty
that Venus herself would hold dear.
As evening dusk sets in, a gentle breeze
Kisses at the tendrils of rouge perfection,
That arouse in me a nostalgic array of delicious memories;
Memories of purity and innocence, of my former self,
Untainted by the vulgarities and crudities of life,
that seep and spread through the mind,
like a trickle of blood that stains the virgin's bedclothes;
Polluting the young woman's life and mind
Into one of passion,
Impressing upon her feelings of hot, pulsating desire,
Of raw and uninhibited urges, the inescapable tarnishing effects of animal instinct
That consumed her soul, leaving her to wade through a marsh of
inexplicable emotion and confusion.
Yet this trembling lust was met head on by Cupid's arrow,
that encompassed her in a world of love and security.
Love embraced her, and plucked out the impurities of her soul,
Transforming the dead numbness of her once innocent heart
Into a spring of tightly coiled excitement; a warm bubbling kettle,
about to boil over, and install in it's offender the security
of child like, care free love.
But love cannot outlive the tyrannic reign of Death,
and her heart blackens and burns,
As her happiness and security are swiftly overcome by heartache.
Tumbling into the abyss of sorrow,
A solitary crystalline tear trickles down her pale cheek,
and her body convulses with emotion and incomparable misery;
As from ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
The one who instigated within her a tender emotion
Becomes at one with nature.
I look at my red dress, and i remember.