Monday, October 17, 2011

The Palace Of Celluloid Dreams

Ever since the Director said: 'That's a wrap', in 1934,
I've been stuck inside these elegant frames
forever sweeping down the staircase in my satin gown
to meet the man of my dreams just back from the war.

He's still my beau, even though something's changed,
and our skittery story unfolds round the great house
that's been in my family for generations - a citadel
of tradition that sees his damage as something deranged.

We have to escape, to realise our love - leave,
with the violins working hard to pluck the heart-strings,
in an awful, reddened dawn fragile with hope.
But it's only you, watching, who get to see the morning cleave.

We play out the scene endlessly: re-runs on Saturday
in the afternoon, late-night movie slots, all those
festivals of 'classics' used to fill programming gaps.
I am bright, fresh, young, full of hope, fey.

If they can preserve the celluloid, I will live forever. Be.
But I am trapped in frozen time, inside the screen.
Just once I'd like to look out, and see who's looking back
at me. Would our dreams match? Who is it trying to be free?

13 September 2011

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