Baby Casper is drunk again.
Twirlin’ in the haze of the moon.
The madness has caught her by the wrists,
While her throat is strangled by a sorrowful tune.
It’s the night that makes her crazy.
And the sudden truth that has escaped her,
In the most betraying way.
One look in her eyes and anyone would see,
She couldn’t believe she could die twice in the same day.
If only she came as the light was resting in the clouds,
He’d be there to lift her to the sky,
Where he and the rest of the dead go to bide their time.
Looking down and watching...
His heart is in her hands now.
Like a ghost chained to walk with the living,
Casper, with her pale hands reaching high.
By this shore she will haunt and loom.
The wind moans with her to cover her cry,
Knowing that he will come for her soon.
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Reviews of "Baby Casper"
Reviewed by Simon Barreiros (Reader)
Reviewed on February 10, 2007
A haunting vision," Casper with her pale hands reaching high."
So well written. Truly gothic mists swirl around this story , poem and in effect creation of a myth.
Well done,
simon
This is a story told in a clasical way that is very reminiscent of Poe. I love the way it is open to limited interpretation and even possible uses of metaphors and analogies.
Well done Mariah.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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So well written. Truly gothic mists swirl around this story , poem and in effect creation of a myth.
Well done,
simon
W o W! Engaging, chilling, effectively poignant verse: very well written.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Poor little Caspar
alone in the world
never did I think
he could be a girl!
Love,
mo
Well done Mariah.
Fee