I want to have a terribly sad wedding
The saddest wedding of all
Where all the guests dress in black
And music will be sombre
Leading many attendees to tears.
I want the food to evoke heartbreak
And the clouds to be forever ominous
Dead midwinter grays will be everywhere
The roses will be dried
And their stems quick to draw blood
With fires burning and candlesticks
That attracts gazes of lost reverie.
I will have guests
Sign their names in blood
And a butler will be there to request it
With orders not to ever smile.
Each place will be set
With Gothic cutlery
And matching black napkins
Folded in a melancholy way.
I want an organ to hold a single chord
For the entire evening
An omnipresent chord
That each song will be tuned to
Maybe a D melodic minor
Or a F flat diminished 7th.
And on my wedding day just so
There will only be one person
Standing at the alter
It will be the pastor
Of an unimaginably vague faith
Whom nobody will know
And nobody will greet
And nobody will listen to his words
For they will blend right in
With the grumbling organ
In the key of terribly sad.
I will watch the whole preceding
Not greeting a single guest
Feom my perch high up
A balcony through my vaulted windows
Of my cold stone house
And there I will sit
Surrounded by ghosts
That I forgot to invite
To my terribly sad wedding
And sitting close by
Without a smile on her face
Will be love for the rest of my life.
Tag: sombre
..And the Cars Wisp By (day 252)
Perhaps there will be solace in the long walks upon this city
When only the pale fluorescent light above illuminates my casual walk
Sombre walk at best
When the mopey soldier drags his cuffs along the cold earth
Saying with every unconscious step further into the distance
“I’ve seen this before”
..and the cars wisp by
..and the cars wisp by
Lazy goes the spray of the fine elements of this earth
Counting the seconds as gravity pulls their souls back to where they once sat quiet
But it doesn’t hurt
Forget about the sound of the screaming bomb working its way south
Hurtling into a fearful state of recognition
Devoid of life we soar
The fog, and this light. There is no fog that this light cannot burn
There is no memory of the last time we held hands
Sombre as we walk past
