Its an end to our graveyard romance – or –<\/p>\n
(I always knew there would be a larger part of me that would never want to leave this playful deathbed)\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n I was in the front seat<\/p>\n feeling my dreams die,<\/p>\n fading into the cold grey mist<\/p>\n that had settled on my life.<\/p>\n with my ripened heart<\/p>\n I watched myself drain<\/p>\n of love and life<\/p>\n my fingers white hard<\/p>\n on the dashboard<\/p>\n head pressed against the windshield<\/p>\n peering to see through<\/p>\n the dark haze<\/p>\n and heavy silence<\/p>\n and I could only make out stone cold<\/p>\n oppressing jagged teeth<\/p>\n posing as dark silhouettes<\/p>\n against the shadowy skyline<\/p>\n The trees were weeping for us<\/p>\n burdened branches touched the earth<\/p>\n and lady night herself wailed<\/p>\n of the solemn hopelessness<\/p>\n of our affair<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I sighted my end<\/p>\n in the mirror of her eyes<\/p>\n Circe was channelling my lust<\/p>\n with her wanton beauty<\/p>\n and her presence comforted me<\/p>\n until I realized that you were stone cold<\/p>\n I was caught in an imaginary embrace<\/p>\n that meant not a thing for my fate<\/p>\n <\/p>\n the lane leading out of the yard<\/p>\n was long and winding<\/p>\n the car lights hit each tombstone<\/p>\n and reflected an unwelcomed truth<\/p>\n The car itself seemed to be lifted,<\/p>\n ferried out of the darkness and<\/p>\n the spectators sat silent, mere spectators,<\/p>\n to the last rites.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Finally, I could see the gates<\/p>\n through the tears and her sighs<\/p>\n the light shone upon rod iron rails<\/p>\n And we passed by in my Father’s black sedan<\/p>\n our bodies stiff and cold<\/p>\n In the end I will never forget<\/p>\n I could hear the procession music<\/p>\n ever so faintly escaping her lips<\/p>\n as she hummed The Who and something about<\/p>\n you better bet your life.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n – Chris George<\/em><\/p>\n September 1980\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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)\u00a0 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…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[80],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11600"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=11600"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11600\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11602,"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11600\/revisions\/11602"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=11600"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=11600"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bygeorgejournal.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=11600"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}