05 September 2007

at the ball.

the music from the ball,
swells proudly from inside
the music from the masquerade,
tells of all joys now forborne

she speaks softly to the breeze,
'all of this... just chance'
she speaks softly to the flurry,
'how sweet... but only to a single glance'

soft light falls across her face,
black lines of mascara tumble
soft light falls across her frame,
the faded evening gown streams

wandering in thought,
unaware the strangers' gaze
wandering in recollection,
unable to pick a foreign scent

turning her back on the gala,
her hair dances swiftly in spree
turning her back on the circus,
silhouetted against the haze

he speaks softly to her neck,
his voice gracefully mild
he speaks softly to her soul,
his aroma leaping in her perception

tears of jaded guilt cascade,
she remains silent as he turns away
tears of jaded guilt perish,
he slips back into the fog

cobalt eyes flash through the gloom,
old friends have become tired opponents
eyes flash through the veil,
just strangers met by fortune

both picturesque and harrowing,
she begins to smile
both picturesque and excruciating,
she laughs softly now

she's looking a little pale,
the nightide hides her hue
she's looking a little drawn,
there's no-one at her side