Boat Ride, House of Lost Loves

I say
“Can I go there?”
She shakes her head no and says
“I guess you can if you want . . .”

I go over the little knoll
And there is the House of Lost Loves
The place is in such disrepair . . .
I love the goth/victorian architecture
The hanging shutters

Oh and the lost soul moaning
the creepy walls and snarling wolves
I feel right at home

She tries to pull me back toward the Light
Before I can see the River of the Dead
(the boatman was perfect)
The Sulfur Pits of Doom
(yeah . . . the worst parts of the Bible)
And . . . God
What the Freak is that?

She pulled my head around
She say
“I don’t want you to see me like this . . .”
I say
“Hon
I am not afraid
I am Grey
The Equipo of Light and Darkness
The Balance between Night and Day
And there is no ride here
I haven’t bought a ticket for . . .”

She say
“But its so . . . tawdry . . . so pathetic
So . . . God . . . it makes me so afraid”
I put my hand on hers and it was cold
The Light I hold in my chest
Found its way down my arm
And she flinched as it hit her hand
But she held on
Her hand warmed

I say
“Look
I love cotton candy
But I also like Patchouli . . .
I love to be baked clean in the Sun
But every now and again
I get a real craving for a romp in the swamp
And besides . . .
I have never had much use for facades”

She looks to see if the twin points in my eyes
still betray my Truth
And she is confused
And never more lovely . . .

I say
“Hon
I would hold my hands to your wounds
I would kiss your poison
I would fly you beyond the farthest places
And never count my change
Never miss a microsecond spent in your presence”

She hit me in the arm and say
“I’ll race you to the Pop Corn”

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

4 thoughts on “Boat Ride, House of Lost Loves”

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