CAMEO (His story)

Recitations are below these two posts, if you would like to read along.

CAMEO

There she stood, silent and unassuming

No one turned, as she took a step toward

Me, head down, her cloak gently flowing

Floating on a mist that carried her forward

I could not look away, held in fascination

Yet she went unnoticed entering the room

Her presence filled the space where she stood

Like a candle flame that lightens the gloom

Captured by her spell, I could not resist her

I stood motionless, held fast to this place

When she stopped and turned toward me

Brushing the veil aside revealing her face

Dark hair framed her skin, a soft alabaster

Translucent, porcelain, such delicate features

Her eyes shone like emeralds in the sun

And I stretched out my hand to reach for hers. . .

Bodies of people began to obscure my view

I was losing her in this bustling crowd

She spoke to me through her blush red lips

But the volume of the room was too loud

She dropped her head and covered herself

Her eyes dropped as she turned toward the door

That’s when I heard her voice, soft and sweet

Carried upon the fragrant air, “my name is Metaphor”.

The meaning escaped me, I could not understand

Where did she come from and where did she go?

Did she exist inside my mind, inside her name?

She, a vision of my love, captured briefly in cameo.

M TERESA CLAYTON

METAPHOR

You once gave me a cameo, silver with a light blue background,

The image, my face, in the center, a porcelain white profile.

It never left my neck until the day I died, it was never found –

A loss I carry forever; a loss I cannot reconcile.

They had me wearing my white wedding gown, face covered in a veil.

I could hear your cries then and for many nights after, as you grieved.

I tried to speak to you, but with no sound of voice, my efforts failed.

I could never reach you to whisper, “Please, sweetheart, please believe.”

I would walk beside you, see you safely home, watch you fall to sleep –

I would try to enter in to your dreams hoping you would recognize me.

I would sit with you, try to comfort as you did nothing but weep.

I would have given you peace… no goodbyes will ever set us free.

Followed you into that ballroom that night, empty air, empty chairs,

Just you and the bartender, your request “… martini, please… dry.”

You were saying, “Why am I here, alone, where nobody cares?”

You were thinking, “So lonely, where did she go, why did she die?”

As you turned to survey the room, you saw me standing near the door,

A blurred image, you were sure you knew me once, what was my name?

When the room filled with people, obscuring your vision all the more –

You kept yelling o’er the crowd, “Don’t leave me!”, but I could not remain.

I did not know you could see me standing ‘neath the portico light,

I had to disappear, return to the other side unrestrained,

Evanesce, remove this incarnation of being from your sight.

I couldn’t resist, looking back o’er my shoulder, I’d try once again.

I turned t’ward you, feeling your desperation through a crowd grown dense,

I prayed you would hear my voice over this mangled sound, hear within.

“Stop, clear your mind, I will reveal myself to you, all will make sense.”

I watched you close your eyes, felt you relax your thoughts to let me in.

"Open your eyes, love, see my face, I will whisper to you alone"

I removed the veil enough for you to see my face, nothing more.

“Yes, you once loved me and I loved you, but now I am the unknown.”

Our eyes met, a fleeting moment, I whispered – “My name is Metaphor.”

“Metaphor.” It echoed through the open spaces far above the room.

I covered my face with the veil once again, turned to disappear…

The lights dimmed upon my leaving, creating a darker sense of gloom,

“Metaphor.” You’ll remember, I am with you, there’s nothing to fear.

The room became empty, he was standing there pale, having seen a ghost.

Just you and the bartender, your request “… martini, please… dry.”

“And, please pour yourself a drink, it’s on me… I’d like to make a toast.”

Lifted their glass to the empty room, “Metaphor, may you never die.”

M TERESA CLAYTON

MY NAME IS METAPHOR