The Crimson Ribbon

The idea of this poem came with an assignment for my Advanced Comp. class. We had to choose one painting from three, one being Renior's "Girl With A Watering Can". As this is a rather large portion of my grade, I would love reviews. That being said, poetry is far from "my thing" so this has been a difficult task for me. Thank you very much, and I am sorry for lack of any obvious sexual tension, it did not fit the painting! (a photo of the painting can be seen here: http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/renoir/watercan.jpg)

The Crimson Ribbon:


Emily Buck

The Crimson Ribbon

Standing,
Immersed in the inky darkness,
Was his beloved.
In her hand,
A streak of blood
Against the milky white,
Was a Crimson Ribbon.

She slipped it into his pocket.
Before they led her away.
“For her,”
She had said,
“So she always remembers.”
And she was gone,
The beauty he loved,
The woman he treasured.

He could not remember,
Why.
Why things happened this way.
For a love to end like this,
Torn,
Forgotten,
Just like the crimson ribbon.

And so they took her,
His beloved wife.
He watched her face
As he hid unseen
And saw her pain,
Her devotion,
Her loss.

In his hand
Was the crimson ribbon.
In his arms
Was their tiny child.
Silent as the drop of laudanum
They slipped into her drink.
So she would stay silent.
When they came to take
His love away.

Far away,
He heard a bell ringing.
Clanging against the gale
That bombarded the
Cold glass windows.
Far away,
He knew his love to be.

Clutched in his hand
Was the crimson ribbon.
Nestled in his arms
Was his tiny child.
A face so familiar,
So like his love.

This was his tiny princess.
The little one,
Who stole his heart.
The little one,
Who broke his heart
With one fleeting look
From her sapphire eyes.
They were just like his beloveds’.

Standing,
Heart beating against his chest,
He took his princess
And ran into the gale.
Rain soaking into his skin,
Freezing to the core
Any hope he had remaining.

Running,
Following the bell.
Every clang
Like a ring of hope,
Until before them
Towered the cathedral,
Ancient,
Omnipotent,
His only way out.

Silently he crept
Up to the steps of the alter
That sat in the center of the church.
Tenderly,
He lay his
Princess before them.

He towered above her,
His calloused fingertips just grazing
The top of her golden locks.
Bending slightly,
To wind a crimson ribbon
Among her wild tresses.

Leaning in tenderly,
To lay a soft kiss
Upon her fair curls.
It was hers,
He whispered gently.
Never forget.

He turned
And did not look back.
He thought
Only of the bell
Ringing
Ever ringing
Within the cathedral tower.

He followed
The steps of the tower
Until before him
Dangled the rope
That would bring him peace.
The rope to ring the bell
The rope to bring him
To where his love was waiting.

Smiling
He pulled the rope.
With all of his strength
He held it in place
Long enough to tie
Its length about his neck.

He felt
The coarse threads
Wrapped around his neck,
Knowing that a life
With out his love,
Is in fact no life at all.

Letting go,
He felt his body rise.
He saw his vision fade.
He was silent,
Swinging in unison
With the ringing bell.