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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.

 

The End

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Replies to This Discussion

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.

Best

Cleveland

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