Bored gargoyle (Photo credit: katewrightson)

I saw you that Sunday afternoon resplendent
in your finery and pacing in the room,
the jewels you wore so casually, dripping from ears you
turned from me, a pretender in full bloom

You leaned against the mantelpiece
as though all life had drained from you
And this rich and dis-spirited point of view
was deepest ochre, deepest blue

Others struggle for food in open mouths, while you
disdain the cheeses cut, you linger by them
saying ‘but…’ and let your little jaw just jut
You drown in shallow, drown in glut
With all the deepest doorways shut

Oh ennui is a friend to you, it seems
it’s just something that you do
In driving nothing we see you rise,
as though a thought would so surprise,
an effort that is over-due, from your rich and dis-spirited
lost world view.

© Helen Valentina 2013, All Rights Reserved