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Sylvia Carroll

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Member Since: Nov, 2004

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He Held My Hand
by Sylvia Carroll

Friday, November 19, 2004
Not rated by the Author.
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Recent poems by Sylvia Carroll
•  Remembered Dreams
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           >> View all 6

HE HELD MY HAND

He held my hand and led me to the dance floor,
Where music played and dreams were made, As whirling frantically we stayed
Within the grasp of madness there,
And danced a tango, bending low
To reach the depths of
Passions, tossed at feet that trampled Hearts and souls of promises
As mindless music played across the lives of others standing round, to see
The scenes of pornographic innocence
Displayed in all it's glory and
Divinity.

He held my hand and led me to the river,
Where feet of clay could wade within The roiling spumes of icy words, flung
out
To wound and kill a dream made long ago,
When hearts were young,
And children danced around the sun
That warmed the fingers, reaching up
To touch the face of gods unknown
Yet coveted with hungry heart Unknowingly.

He held my hand and led me to an empty room,
Where once I dreamed and lived in peace to
Softly moving, ever changing rhythms Of a life now lost to madness slowly
Twining round my days, and nights of Crystal visions shattered on the lovers
Bed that lingered there to torture,
Bodies all supine on shards of
Lust and jagged lies told
Carelessly to keep the truth away.

He held my hand and led me to the doorway,
Where once I entered rooms of lives now
Lost and tossed aside, so recklessly discarded
At the feet of madly dancing lovers, whirling round
And round as dusty motes of
Pain rose round their feet,
Unheeded and unaltered by the
Frantic music playing loud, and Capturing a moment that would ever be
A dirge of sorrow and regret.

He held my hand and led me to the dance floor,
And covered with the music played in Minor keys and sung by sirens
Clinging to the rocky shoals of treachery, I danced and played with mermaids and became A fairy tale told by a mad enchantress,
Weaving spells above my head
As worlds around my feet were made
And tossed away as tides of
Lies rolled in to take the prints
Of dreams and hope away.But still, he held my hand ...

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Reviewed by Sylvia Carroll 8/8/2007
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