|Image Duane Michals|
When I saw Tess's photo prompt for the week's 'The Mag' I immediately thought of 'The Lady of Shallot' by Tennyson. I have unashamedly tried to incorporate some of his wonderful words into my poem. Think of it as an homage, and if you want to have fun with this click here to read Tennyson's immortal words and see which ones I stole (shared).
She stood by the window to borrow its light,
not to look out into the world beyond,
but to see what she'd left behind;
a past as darkly shadowed as the purple night,
so that she dare not look over her shoulder,
at the flickering images of her memory.
Instead, she peered uncertainly at the glass,
straining to see a glimmer of truth materialise.
Imprisoned by the four grey walls of her grief,
she reflected on the illusion of love,
the distorted mirroring of another life;
A woman who cared too much and was cursed.
She tried to concentrate on the present,
desperately urging her mind to see the future,
but she was already losing her grip;
the web of deceit was unravelling,
the cracks were beginning to appear.
© Marilyn Brindley