So this is a poem I wrote about a couple from Holby City. Cookies to those who guess - you may have to carefully break down the stanzas bit by bit to work it out ;)
Doors close, posts wane,
The clink of the lock rings out.
Shut.
Out of nothing he comes forth,
A saviour, a volatile hero
Ideas transpire, a sickening betrayal.
Infrangible.
The handle is turned without despondency,
Or regret.
The key is found.
Open.
Shut.
The bolt calls, screams for unlatching.
The other side is mocking, manipulating.
Open! Open!
Until you give another man your breath.
Clouded eyes, unseeing – the haze = no hurt.
Why? The question has been repeated. Why?
It's intangible.
He lays in satin finery,
Waxen lips a poor mimicry of life,
Those kisses are lost to death,
Awaiting passage to dissention.
Retaliation is driven by sombre, saturated grief.
Stimulus = professional motivation,
Blazes scarlet amongst black.
Ms Ladybird.
Shut.
Doctors a broken heart,
For the hero has found his heroine.
Acceptance is futile -
A vixen without a fox.
The hierarchy is shattered, as though glass.
But the window has panes for support,
If the half-empty mirror does not.
A reflection not worthy of the mind.
Opposites.
The deed is done, bells have rung.
With rings around you.
Shut.
Open.
The kiss is tender,
The Moment frozen –
Time is not constant here,
Even if love is.
Lips meet so calmly, so contently.
Parted in a trance,
Moulded to suit,
With passion unvarying.
Melting bodies, ice before the sun.
Façades thaw, cracks form -
So contrasting, yet so similar.
Elation is limitless,
Yet its limit is over,
The resilient chains overpower –
The primary mechanism of defence,
Like a padlock to the door of dreams.
And the thousand eyes open with a pull of will,
Indistinct, hazy – Eight weeks, then nothing.
A sacrifice pledged, however not undertaken.
The hero has flown away.
But the door has opened.