I feel betrayed.
My love swells up inside my throat
And falls down to depths unsounded.
My fantasies smell of burnt petrol
And rusted lamp-posts laugh at my naive dreams.
The eagle has swooped down today, flying far beneath
To listen to the boy with curly hair sing a haunting melody.
That music bloates my heart.
And a fistful of silken strands strangles me.
I mutter fervent prayers;
Close my eyes and wait:
But the music still bloates
And the silken strands still strangle.
I feel as if I am finally banished to this spinning gyre.
But then, one day a morning dawns sedately-
The boy with curly hair begins a different song.
The olden music isn't lost and the strands aren't gone either;
I can still feel my love aching inside my heart
And yet... my heart floates.
