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The Lady of Shalott


Her form-fitting dress
Burning crimson passion
His faraway stare
A welcoming distraction

Such tightly woven threads
Tapestry of frustration
Her fingers seal her fate
As he pines in admiration

Hear how she sighs
Look how he stretches
What's behind those eyes?
Hopes, those evil wretches.

Half sick of shadows
Twice ripped apart
Now there is tar
Where once there was heart.

There's still a glimmer
From a glittery past
She yearns and lies
He answers too fast.

How languid the yawn
How honest the laugh
When once they wrote sonnets
But now, love's epitaph.



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