Ophelia

A finger streaks the black,

The depths of despair,

Of insanity, cut with leaves,

Dark water, swirling,

A mind in turmoil.

 

Littered with flowers long since dead,

She drifts downstream,

Ophelia,

Icy riverine tendrils,

That soak her heart,

And pull her close.

 

To the bosom of the river bed,

Where she will sleep,

In eternal torment,

Longing for,

His ghostly embrace.

 

'Ophelia' (1852) John Everett Millais. Model: Elizabeth Siddal

 

S J Menary

07/07/2014

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