Keats Motel

Ah, what is wrong with you, poor fool,

Death comes for you this night;

The frost covers the lifeless land,

And no stars of light.

Ah, what is wrong with you, poor fool,

Cold eyes and begging for Death’s kiss;

The year is over and done now,

Promises of bliss.

The dark crows gather around you,

As though your body succumbed to death;

Pale beauty disguises your grace,

And slows your breath.

I met a lady in the streets,

With voluptuous beauty uncanny;

Her golden hair flowing in the wind,

With eyes shone brightly.

I offered her a ride in my car,

As heavens blue tears began to fall;

She agreed and as she sat, she sang,

Of enchanted rainfall.

When we arrived at her place of rest,

Near a bridge cresting this frosted field;

She looked at me with soft eyes of need,

And there was no yield.

She gave me liquor veiled in her purse,

And a fresh cigarette to lite up;

She sang again, now of soft passion,

Sweet as rich syrup.

She took me to her motel room,

And there she gazed and sighed deep;

I embraced her, feeling her sadness,

And let her sleep.

There we slept on cushioned pillows,

And there I dreamed, a nightmarish thing,

Of my last walk among the fog,

Dreams in the making.

I saw men of power, of prestige,

Men of leadership, and all were pale;

They cried out, “The lady is asleep,

Flee from her veil!”

Their eyes were sunken and some gone,

With cries of warning from mouths deprived;

I awakened to find myself here,

On the cold hill side.

So that is why I linger still here,

Death comes for me this night;

Though the frost covers the lifeless land,

And no stars of light.

-Courtney Larsen (11/18/13)

Parody of “La Bella Dame Sans Mercy”

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