Dark is the Plummet
You cried out as you tried to hang on to the wire Screamed and bled as you swung even higher You were careful to hide the blood stains on your wrist And afraid as red droplets leaped to the abyss.
Your lips never trembled while the puppet strings wrenched You found carpal bone yet you did not give an inch But when you were alone you gave in to the woe So you better watch out or to the dark you will go.
Eyelids locked, fingers crossed, and your shoulders had hunched Your feet slammed into the rock wall with a crunch Every gasp was an effort with each pull you would make And you prayed to some god that the thread wouldn't break.
And so hours passed but you could not seem to kill This pain, but then came a beautiful trill You climbed to the top, smiled at the bird by the well And opened your hands. To the chasm you fell.
Revelations
Her hands continue to cling to the gloves in her fist; a peculiar sight, for the temperatures can get awfully chilly. Her garb is colorless, bleak, black. Her bonnet offers no shield to the bite of wind, and instead looks awkward against the curling locks of fine blonde hair.
She looks like an angel, and it is all I can do not to wonder why such a creature could carry such a forlorn expression across her perfect features.
The wind continues to rise, a shrill whistle of times to come and times that have passed, and it offers a suiting compliment to the somber church bells ringing in slow succession. For the world, the wind blows; only for someone who will never note the pass of time again will the haunting bells trill their melody.
It seems to me that the more I scrutinize this morose being, the higher my heart races and the more my body wracks with the cold. It's a curious thing to experience, but I could no more dwell on it than life could refuse air, for this girl turns to me, her strangely knowing eyes pinning me with a look that I can't even begin to fathom. She stands.
My feet seem planted, nay, infused with the ground, and the world seems to still. Everything passes by in a blur, but her hair floats about her head as if we are immersed in water. I can scarcely breath anymore at the notion of it.
The church bells continue their song, the wind weaving in and out of their notes to create a rhapsody of chaos and rememberance. I find it beautiful, even as the morbidity of it completely purges me of any other feeling. I am more alike to this celestial entity than I know.
She is suddenly before me, wide eyes and a sad smile. Her hands envelope mine, and the sensation is ethereal. I embrace it with an eagerness I have never experience, and in doing so, I bring forth stunning images to my mind, questions that have always plagued me, memories that I have wanted to forget. I have received all the answers, and she is the key to it all.
With that revelation, I am left alone.
Not a blade of grass stirs under my feet.
Conjured Specters
The whisper through the silence contradicted reason. 'T was so faint, so swift, that I was sure that I was mistaken. Until I heard it again. My name surfaced again on the barest thread of sound.
"Onna," the voice murmurred, somewhat stronger now and full of reverence. My knees threatened to buckle in fear and anticipation, my heart thumping a tattoo against my chest; my breath, however, remainded miraculously steady. 'T was strange, so strange. The few people I allowed myself to come close with commented on my lack of response. They called me distant, nonchalant. Reserved. There was nothing reserved about me at this point. Anyone with eyes could see everything I was feeling. Terror, excitement, wonder; it was all there. 'T was the only thing I was sure of at the moment.
Was this the end? Was I finally losing what little edge I had on reason? The tears creeping between my closed eyelids didn't indicate an answer. They were useless.
"No," I suddenly gasped out, my hands clutching the folds of my dress in near-hysteria. "No, I'm not daft." The words started out as a statement, but I couldn't keep them from escaping my quivering lips again. I chanted them over and over, my mind grasping at any attempts of assurance.
"Onna," the disembodied voice surfaced once more, fairly singing this time. I choked, nay, shouted the denial. All the while, my eyes continued their weeping. My body still trembled, my fingers remained clutched. My heart sustained its erratic beat. I sank to my knees, not daring to close my eyes to the pain the broken twigs beneath my bare knees offered. I couldn't tear my gaze away from anything that might afford me a whole mind.
'T was then that I saw him. A specter, a haunt, a mockery of the man that he once was. He moved with an ethereal grace, as if he was floating, towards me. I bent back, trying to regain my feet. My actions belied my heart, however, as 't was crying out in anguish. I ached to hold him, to touch him, to feel his arms around me. I closed my eyes involuntarily at the agony those memories gave me.
"Onna," his voice breathed in my ear. I shuddered, fighting to keep my eyes closed now against the vision of my only love. A whisper of a caress traced the slant of my cheek, and my eyes snapped open. There was no one there.
I laid in the grass, the dew of the early morning cold and damp to the fabric of my dress. It elicited a shiver from me, but 't was not the only cause. My body shuddered from anticipation, from longing, for the time when I would see him again. When I would be like him.
Ballad of the Mute · Wed Oct 21, 2009 @ 04:27am · 0 Comments |