Authors, Writers, Publishers, and Book Readers
Tell me beloved, how can I believe you,
as your love has driven me insane.
Without you this love- hurting Jose
must play the deadly game.
I can't think of anything else except
the silver trumpet blast, back in
sunny Spain. And in the Madrid
Bullring where I will die and fight in vain.
Now I'm dressed for death for without
you I'm clearly not the best. I feel the
steel in my hand, cold, sharp, only
wish it were through my chest.
There! The bull snorts for power,
and I welcome the beauty of fright.
But will the bull stop me this time
or must I again feel a lover's plight?
The bull so black, it charges but I've
my cape in my hand as the tossing
horns try to touch my splendid body,
dig deep, then rip out below.
My blood will splash the sand and
I know it as the way for me to go.
I'll face a blinding epiphany when all
I think is you and fate makes a show.
I'll hear the crowd shout, then to a
murmur fall. In the breeze your
perfume is faint; comes to me as
I suffer, then fade to the Maker's call.
Beautiful tragic love poem--like most love stories. Really enjoyed reading about the love-hurting Jose. Liked the rhythm and flow. Your choice of words are so unique: "beauty of fright"; "the bull snorts for power." The line "I've my cape in my hand as the tossing" makes me think of one of those old poems you read like "The Highway Man."
The Bullring is a dangerous place.
I'm so glad you enjoyed the poem and thanks for the compliment.
The Highway man is a classic poem but there was difficulty in
writing that poem at the start. That's the way it goes with poems.
Some work and some don't.