The Young Dame
Celeste, the young dame
Had a sister
Who was misnamed
For it is Celeste who is the fower
As her siblings should have been named stone,
For a rose, is a rose, is a rose
baptized Celeste
Their holy father in all his misgodlyness
Stole her being
And brothers and dad left her for dead
And this little beaming star
Sat in the mud
Muddled and unaware of her noble birthright
Looking into the wisps of the dew
And seeing only weeds.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Have I the right to live at all?
Like discarded toys
She lay broken
In the arms of evil
As these sightless voices ran their boats
And gave their sermons
Only in the secrecy of their hearts stopping to admire their ability
To turn gold into coal
But almost unnoticed
At first just the gasp of a cough
The first tear of her unbreakable will on her cheek
Then whole movements
This jewel willed herself from the mud
Unbeaten by the evil
And unbroken by the spiritless father
She rises
Her scent evident to everyone
Touched by her magic
For a rose, is a rose, is a rose is always a rose
Is a wonder
Is enchantment
Is Celeste.
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All Poetry
- patience
- Endless Steel Conga Line
- Relief from this Madness
- Today
- home isn't
- California Moods
- Womin
- Water Lilies
- Velvet Glaciers
- Alone
- This last year I almost died three times
- Wind whispers, sounds and shouts
- The Young Dame
- Last Moments
- I do not know what to say
- Thoughts
- Hope
- Anniversary
- Ancient Castles
- Righteous Moments
- MOMENTS 1981
- MEDITATIONS
- Me
- Longing Remembered
- Longing
- Impromptu
- Holy, Holy, Holy aria from the dance-opera JESUS' DAUGHTER
- Dedication to MOURNING SONGS for orchestra
- Credo
- Celeste
- Beginning at the End
- As I Sing