Libra and Cinnamonskin

Libra named himself a sailor

and the captain of his ship.

He’d sailed to Mars, afloat on stars

and claimed the upside-down ocean.

Still he was going nowhere

in the folly of his youth

‘til he heard the calls of the empty halls

of a museum after dark.

She was standing, silent,

eyes locked with stone and paint.

The girl with skin like cinnamon

who rivaled the artists’ work.

Her eyes were silent music

Her every word was prose

And just her touch was sweet enough

To bring the great poets to their knees.

Though she did not know it,

he gave to her his heart

and was victim of a deeper love

than he had ever known.

Cinnamonskin was heedless,

Having lost herself again

To the anecdotes of the willing ghosts

of whatever artists wished to speak.

He cried out “How I love you!

Words cannot describe!

I’d give to you the morning dew

of a quiet summer’s dawn.

To read all of these poems

must tie your head in knots

But the break of dawn will surely calm

and soothe your weary mind.”

She looked to the great poets

and soon made up her mind.

Said “I’d rather verse than the morning, terse

I choose my Comedy Divine.

I hear you say you love me

and I must be true and say:

My so called weary head belongs to the dead

it’s Dante that owns my mind.”

He then cried out “Please listen!

These feelings I retain.

I’ll give to you the ocean blue

and every distant shore.

These old marble musicians

will never make a sound

But every wave will serenade

your lonesome, aching soul.

She sought the great composers

and soon her choice was clear.

Said “I’d prefer balladry over all the sea

It’s the Eclougues I’ll let sing.

I hear you say you love me,

I must be true and say:

These lonesome aches my poet takes,

It’s Virgil that owns my soul.

He fell to his knees begging.

“I pray you’ll love me too.

Watch as I bring the night sky

down to earth for you.

To stare at all these paintings

Is truly lonesome work

But soon the stars shan’t be as far

as the palms of your own two hands.

She prayed to the great artists

and soon an answer found

Said “I’d take seminars over all the stars

Words are a writer’s art.

I hear you say you love me

I must be true and say:

This lonesome time I pass in rhyme,

It’s Shakespeare that holds my heart.

He could not lose his true love

He could not face defeat

And from his boat, on stars afloat

He made his enchantment known.

He gave her all the stars

And every galaxy

The whole night sky had then run dry

and his ship promptly sank.

Libra named himself a sailor

until the day he drowned.

With his final breath he laughed at death

and the upside-down ocean swallowed him up.

His heart belonged to someone

Yet the earth still turned the same.

The girl with skin like cinnamon

Who loved nothing but the company of her art.