Lady of Sorrow: Part One, The Precipice

The lady of sorrow 

does not possess a name.

For the sake of this poem,

I will call her: Lady Sorrow.

There’s another time

in another place,

where she sat deep

between the slopes of a ravine. 

It was overcast, 

and so was the spirit in her eyes.

Where a storm brewed

following her lover’s death.

***

And brews still, 

every morning

when memory dawns 

on her waking mind.

Then she wails in bed,

her hands in praying posture,

looking up to the ceiling,

begging, “please, Lord!”

She chokes, and pleads,

“give me my sanity!” 

All her prayers she felt 

were unanswered,

“Vanity it is to pray!

To you! To end this sorrow!” 

Then there comes a point

where she gazes 

out her bedside window,

where a terrible precipice 

falls into the wild waves 

of the green-blue sea.

“My precipice of hope

and my sea of sorrow.”

A tear glides down her cheek,

so many, they dot the pillow.

Again she stares 

up into the ceiling

to a God she knows 

doesn’t exist.

“The light of prayer

is now dark vanity!” 

Still, Lady Sorrow

will make the arduous walk

to the edge, peer over,

and knew with courage

she could end all sorrow.

No matter the netherworld!

Before she ventures to the cliff,

she has the habit of staring

at her reflection in her body mirror. 

Dolling herself up for her lost love.

She whispered into the mirror,

“maybe he can see me 

down from the heavens,

or look up from hell.”

She continued, with a glassy stare,

“if he wears angelic wings above,

I also will grow wings and fly to him

and let him sweep me off my feet again!”

And she declared, with desperation, 

“if my love burns in hell,

I will grasp his hand in the flames

and burn with him! Forever burn!” 

Putting the finishing touches on her face,

looking gorgeous, she picked a photo

out from beneath her damp pillow

of her and him, cuddling.

“I could relive any moment with you.

I could, fly up to you in death,

I could burn with you in Hell,

whatever the fate will be!

Their cat, Doodles, perched 

on the window sill, she noticed

as she was walking to the door.

Stopping to give him one last kiss.

She picked up her little fur ball,

petting his scalp, a lengthy meow,

and Lady Sorrow knew to bring

him along, down the precipice. 

“Mr. Doodles we’re going to see daddy again, and very soon. It’ll be a long fall,

however, short-lived.”

She carried Doodles down to the field.

And barefoot across the patchy,

rock-studded field to the fall.

Once there, both peered over,

and with one last look at the photo,

and one last tear,

and one last kiss,

with a gasp,

Lady Sorrow leaped.

Perishing,

within the strange mystery

that is below the surface,

vanishing into the unknown abyss.

To be continued…