Woeman

Karin, you are so much in pain!
All this tortured writhing in bed,
the frozen tears held back in vain,
to ennui you seem remorselessly wed.
Once you were a sheltered child :
strawberries in summer meadows,
big house with bright light, laughter wild,
cousins, magic lanterns,veiled widows,
Die Kirches with Gothic steeples,
nannies, lessons, lesbian curiosity,
prayers, piano practice. Like maples,
in autumn they went. Desolate city,
lonely, loveless, living, longing, lead
on your chest, fingers of spidery webs,
that cruelly penetrate your maidenhead,
some ineffable agony throbs and ebbs.
Alien treading, a gradual folding back,
from your children, the people that care,
all hollow inside. From this solo track
no respite, no meaning, no love. No prayer,
comes to your aid in the wolf  hours
when you look through glasses dark,
psychotically rummaging through layers
of accumulated insecurity. You hark,
the blare of seven trumpets, but your
faith is shaken. And In your suffering,
no quest for redeeming salvation, your
torment is no beatific Christian purging.
God abandoned you, dear Karin,
and you feel violated by man.
You detest the odor, sweet Karin,
yes..of his seed.  Your face wan,
against the screen, so white and black,
interplay of shadows, Death in gloom,
and his chessgames, a total lack,
a major abnegation, absolute doom,
you are spread out on your back,
trapped by your senses and a body,
that feels insensate pain, breaks down
into violent outbursts, ever ready
to not feel love, to hurt, to frown
on the banalities of restful happiness.
Suffering makes you slowly retreat
into the colorless depths of  soundless
reverberation - where with measured beat,
you brood over vacuum in Silence.
A temporary refuge from senseless words;
from others. Spells of cancerous sentience
still seize your persona in hospital wards.

( A humble poetic tribute to the greatest auteur ever and the female protagonists he envisioned, as fellow fans must no doubt have guessed.)