Lady in Black

© 1998 Matthew Johnson
All rights reserved.

First glance was on a seaside beach, as layered fog came rolling in,
By chance her distance out of reach, my nerves were worn and wearing thin.
On a ragged cliff this summer home, unkempt windows stained from salt.
My perch to watch the locals roam, my conscience purged of guilt or thought.

My writing rampage slowed to a crawl, my thoughts outgrew the paper stage
Outside I heard a seagull's call, a gentle night breeze blew the page.
I stumbled to the sea-streaked glass, to bottle life and sell it back.
She seemed unreal, and vanished fast, first time I saw the lady in black.

That sleepless night was full of thought, none were written on neglected pages
She owned my mind, I never fought, she picked it clean, in selected stages
The occasional slam of the old screen door, its hinges sing to the night-time breeze
In disrepair, like the creaking floor, the worn front steps and the untrimmed trees

I shelved all that despite my fears, an unfamiliar heart became my mind
I shed my thoughts and became her tears, long-lost desires are so unkind

Why that night and why this beach, I ponder that question to this day
Writer's block, a well-planned breach, the end result, she had her way

Was this the face of death I saw, or an apparition born of tonic?
Has nature broken one more law, and death's a woman, how ironic.
Well, life has thrown me lots of curves, tossed me cursing to the ground,

Is this a case of stress and nerves, or a destined lover, yet unfound?

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