For Edward Cullen

Edward Cullen the most alluring creation from the tip of Stephanie Meyer’s pen has taken all the young fluttering hearts in a romantic flurry throughout the world. It all started with Edward and his amazingly gifted clan of Vampires that have allowed the world to look at the dark and dangerous creatures through a incontrovertibly positive perspective. Although they are dark and dangerous creatures, Vampires no longer are mindless blood suckers with downright evil motives. Not only did Edward sweep Bella off her feet, he has swept millions of Bellas across the world who are still obsessing on the mania catapulted by him. Edward is dear not just to the teenage demographic but also to both young and older mums. This one is exclusively for Edward, my acclamation for him is found in the hour of his extreme pathos.

This poem is dedicated to my favourite part in New Moon when Edward Cullen is misinformed about Bella’s death and he makes his way to Italy to meet his doom. The merciless Volturi is the only weapon he can use to destruct himself. His mind is a tumultuous place raging with questions, guilt, remorse but above all darkness. Here is an insight into Edward’s despondency, his art of languishing.

The art of languishing

Its black, its thick , a hole so deep,
welling inside
wasting away
every second, ever hour, every day,

losing grip.

Seeping carefully away,
every drop, pimento red,
each ounce, drying, on the verge of decay.

There is but no beat in the heart,

yet it hurts, it tugs, it draws,
it eats, it gnaws, it tears, it claws.

Eyes are but a pair of dark pits,
Hair limp, damp and it sits
glued onto a sweaty forehead
pallid from guilt and rue.
Mouth stretched and white,
lips, but a crack that once knew how to smile.
Knotty fingers thread with gnarly green veins
struggle against each other,
nothing more to obtain.

Drip drip drip and it drops, it leaks,
every drop oozes out, escapes
with excruciating anguish, writhing,
every drop like the birth of a child
painful and horrid, murderous and wild.

Seeping out through the pores of the skin,
like million diamonds studded from within
beholding, reflecting fractions of light from the sun
shrinking by the clock into a translucent being.
I was, I used to be, Am I ?

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Yoshay Lama

I welcome you warmly to my blog. This is the resting place of most of my creative work. This blog consists of book reviews, articles, poems, mere reflections and excerpts from my stories.

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