Sunday, April 19, 2009
To be loved by two, as close as cousins were they,
Naive Roxanne knew not that to choose meant to pay.
That they both so loved her was no fault of their own;
Neither had the courage to approach her alone.
Their words penned, Cyrano and Christian quickly fled.
Roxanne vainly tried to follow the path they led,
Chasing long shadows behind corners and through doors,
Answering voices that called from beyond the moors.
Tired and exhausted, she found a generous stump.
Contemplating fruitlessness, she contained the lump,
The lump that fought to release itself from her heart.
Her throat caught it, and her strong will ripped it apart.
When the kind stump had given sufficient reprieve,
Roxanne rose, followed the river, chose to believe
One or two mattered not as her affection grew;
Yet the men had plagued her a tornado of clues.
Unexpectedly, she found one of them at night,
And lay her weary head on his shoulder, not quite
Certain of which brother, however, and she feared
Her intended would stay hidden, never appear.
*If you have read the play Cyrano de Bergerac, then you know that the events were nothing like this poem. However, I needed names for metaphors to express some of the characters of recent personal events. These fit the closest.