an end to our graveyard romance

Its an end to our graveyard romance – or –

(I always knew there would be a larger part of me that would never want to leave this playful deathbed) 

I was in the front seat

feeling my dreams die,

fading into the cold grey mist

that had settled on my life.

with my ripened heart

I watched myself drain

of love and life

my fingers white hard

on the dashboard

head pressed against the windshield

peering to see through

the dark haze

and heavy silence

and I could only make out stone cold

oppressing jagged teeth

posing as dark silhouettes

against the shadowy skyline

The trees were weeping for us

burdened branches touched the earth

and lady night herself wailed

of the solemn hopelessness

of our affair


I sighted my end

in the mirror of her eyes

Circe was channelling my lust

with her wanton beauty

and her presence comforted me

until I realized that you were stone cold

I was caught in an imaginary embrace

that meant not a thing for my fate


the lane leading out of the yard

was long and winding

the car lights hit each tombstone

and reflected an unwelcomed truth

The car itself seemed to be lifted,

ferried out of the darkness and

the spectators sat silent, mere spectators,

to the last rites.


Finally, I could see the gates

through the tears and her sighs

the light shone upon rod iron rails

And we passed by in my Father’s black sedan

our bodies stiff and cold

In the end I will never forget

I could hear the procession music

ever so faintly escaping her lips

as she hummed The Who and something about

you better bet your life.


– Chris George

September 1980  





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