Love Story behind the Poem - Screaming Hurt
The elegant young wife tapped her beautifully manicured fingernails on the antique side table, impatiently waiting for her husband. He was only 5 minutes late but she was so excited about tonight. He had promised they would finally spend some time together. He had been so busy lately she wondered how he kept up the pace. She loved him so much. He had said they would probably stay in tonight but she had dressed with extra care, applying all the necessary applications to make herself exquisitely desirable in his eyes. Oh, how she wanted everything to go just the way she had planned.
She heard his car on the front driveway but there it stopped; it did not go through to the garage. Perhaps they were going out tonight, despite his comments about a nice quiet romantic evening at home. She was “elegantly casual” tonight so she could go either way.
She tripped lightly to the front hall and awaited his arrival with a carefully planned seductive pose. Hearing his steps on the front pathway she breathed in with anticipation and pure joy.
He entered as usual with great presence but this time walked to the hall table and placed a single red rose beside the photograph of the two of them on their honeymoon. He walked back to the door and finally looked at her. Her heart pounded.
As he lightly leaned his back against the front door, he said, “I’m sorry darling, but we won’t be going out tonight. I’m afraid we won’t be going out again.” She gasped in utter disbelief. He shifted slightly and continued, “I have found a woman I truly love and we plan on being married as soon as possible. You will be taken care of properly. I know you understand.”
His glance at the rose made her glance too. It had thorns! He always took all the thorns off a rose before giving it to her.
“I’m leaving tonight,” he said quietly and finally. He turned and strode through the door.
Forging rivers fiery and cold through a long deserted soul.
A monster mind gleefully smashes aside an eternity of mist-encased love
Craving the ecstasy found only in echoing wells of self-inflicted despair.
She stood stock still, frozen with shock. She could hardly breathe, but she could feel the pain rising silently and inexorably in her throat. What had just happened, she cried inside? What had happened to all the love they shared? How could he do this to me, she wanted to wail? But all she could feel was cold despair and piercing heartache.
In a flurry of gleaming perverted pride
Ego rides high on the corroded shoulders of a neon god.
Oh my love, you were my only love. I made myself over for you; I made myself shine for you. I was always so good to you; giving you everything you wanted. Why are you doing this to me?
Pain and passion entwined in agony
Dance endlessly to the tune of a counterfeit promise
Mocking the faithful pledge of fidelity unto demise.
When you were with me you danced and you sang. We held each other and swayed to the strings of love and passion. You promised me you would love me until we died! How can I ever believe you again? Oh, the agony.
She still had not moved. She simply couldn’t. She did not understand and maybe, if she didn’t move, everything would go back to the way it was, the way it should be. He would walk through the door and smiling, take her in his arms and kiss her with the force of his love for her. But everything had turned to poison. Was the trust really gone? Was it the truth that he no longer loved her?
The colourful, carefree ribbons of truth and trust
Disintegrate in billowing clouds of fragrant poison
Choking the light and denying a homeward glance.
Her silence was strangling her. Yet, still, she did not move. She could feel an intense heat emanating from the rings on her left hand. But the searing heat was leaving; leaving her as he had left her; leaving her in a cold abandoned heap.
Pungent tears honey-sweetened by all-consuming grief
Stream through the shattered dreams cluttering the soil
From which a united identity once sprang.
Then the tears started. It was the only outward movement she could not control. Tears, sweetened by the dreams she thought were forever hers, welled in her eyes and made smudgy tracks down her contoured cheeks, dropping to the floor as if they could water the love they had once shared and bring it back to life.
Ah, but you, you unmindful one
You understand but feign weighty demands
And instead embezzle enchanting delights
From a sorceress of Delphi magnitude.
Then she knew beyond a doubt. As if a lightning bolt had raced across the sky, she knew he had not been busy lately. He had been seeing her. She knew her husband loved her even as he had been making love to her. She must be a mighty temptress to be able to lure him away, but why? She did not need him; she could not really love him.
She is charmed to win your tainted allegiance
Before dispatching you to a teeming foyer
Of similarly encouraged gigolos.
Oh, my poor darling husband! You have been deceived. You are simply another charm on her bracelet; merely another gilt prize to demonstrate her prowess in the amorous art of winning hearts. She will leave you. Then you will truly understand the misery of unrequited love.
She could breathe again. She could feel her heart beating and her tears drying. You left me, my love, I did not leave you. Yes, you will know misery and grief but I will not help you then. Her beautiful blue-green eyes turned a colder shade of gray and her full, pouty lips thinned to a small curl at the edges.
Misery puffed with the power of offended purity
Awakens to the clarion call of vengeance’s appeal
It bonds with disenchanted triumph
And the glories of prior place
She turned and strode confidently into her living room, the jewel of her home. And it was all hers now. If she must play the deceived wife she would play it well. She poured herself a glass of very expensive champagne, laid out for her and her husband’s enjoyment. Well, that was gone. It would have to be champagne and her phoenix rising from the ashes that warmed her nights and animated her days.
Finding solace in the plunder of the victor’s spoils.
She thrilled to the call, the clarion call, of vengeance. He perhaps thought that he had won. It didn’t matter. She would take him for everything he was worth!
The original poem with images added.
You may find this one interesting, especially if images inspire you as they do me.