Painting by Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

Copyright 2013


The motion of words unspoken—

A bride to desolation.

Aged eyes beneath veil of tulle,

drift vacant,

seek fulfillment, a resurrected groom.

Bedroom reflections, romantic fabric,

dormant space, disfigured heart.

The transition, a cancer,

quiet, cruel, and unforgiving—

love everlasting.

The magnificent cliché.


Bury our hearts,



In the safety of our house—

my dark room,

dark eyes;


secret tale telling lies,

no one knowing,

coming, going.


Quiet, turn out the light,

cover myself with

yellow linen memories.


September’s unseasonable humid breeze,

spins lesser degrees of torment,

imploring open-window reception.


I lie invisible on a steel bed,

its prison gate,

enslaved in our complications.


Stars glare through a carved-out triangle,

read my mind,

hide behind the moon.


A time before this, I remember…

sweep the waterfall from my eyes,

an old trick.


Your breath in and out with a racket,

alerts my defense, skin,



I cannot transport myself, willingly,

to another space, and help me,

I’ve tried!


Sleep comes too seldom

for dreams to escape.


Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

From her book: The Sum of Something Meaningful

COPYRIGHT 2007 All Rights Reserved