| | What I Saw From the Bastion She wept tearless that her heart was lostin the far away frost of San Francisco.Cliche and dark as it was,the grief of the day incited a brief and loose sympathy,for my conscience was held by a mystical ream of foreboding dreams that faded and returnedwith the breaks of the provinces,quite like hers. She told me that the lions stole her lifeas a dead man’s strife tore her bastille.Professors gave her regimentsand a creed that cures the deathbut never seemed to erasethe falling fortifications made fromscraps of origami and cracked glass she loved,yet penitence would have been a better haventhan her trap of trepidation. I left my affections floating in an oceanof deep blue and gray,like the water of Maine,too cold to address but too deep to refrain.Where breath is capturedand anger squelched by lapping and laughingof children’s hearts raptured,of hawks eyes from the skies,of lupines rising and falling and moving gently,submitting to the breezeof the early summer’s morning,beckoning the lost to enter,promising rest but reckoning tears–for such paradises only exist in the recessesof taut minds and longing sighs,in the books of those with inklings of the tides.So from this shore fades the world across the waters,the jade-colored country, to which I lookand wonder how dreams can seem so real,when the light of day faltersand the flickering of life on the other sideglimmers in the otherwise black of night.So slightly the light moves through the airthat I don’t know what it means, or how it fares,or where it goes,as it dances to and fro,or for whom it moves,yes, for whom it moves. I told no one that I lost my heartin the far away dark of this sad night,reading Eliot and writing nonsense,for the bleeding of the day and the words yet unspokendid silence my brandish,for my heart was held by a whimsicalream of foreboding dreams that faded and returnedwith the divisions of the seas,quite unlike hers. Please, dear night, might I haveback my heart?I whisper the trite phrase I don’t meanagainst the roaringwaves and thundering gravesof another war’s bountythat will come and goon the shore of despondenceand leave me weaker than beforebut with life and a conscience,bound by memories. (written 9-14-05) |
| | Posted 11/4/2005 10:16 PM - 11 Views - 8 eProps - 3 comments
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