I
Darkness was everywhere.
Creeping through the night. Filling all the holes of the Universe.
The Cheshire grin of the full moon lies behind the veil of mist.
This is not a night for walks. Not at all.
She must go further still.
She walks on, barefoot, through the night,
Flames of ebony licking at her heels,
Gray tendrils pulling her hair,
II
The endless ramble leaves her mind to wander among
The dusty roads down her memory lane,
Where through the thick film of cobwebs, she can see her home
On a June morning and on Christmas Eve.
The wet smell of freshly mown grass mingles with the aroma of
Dandelion Wine: essence of yester-summers.
Her father tinkles with his typewriter,
And the sniff of a faraway fruitcake taunts her cold, ravenous nostrils.
III
Have they missed her? Nothing matters. She was almost home.
“ You think so?”
She looks around, startled, as the unspoken words echo in her mind.
There is no one here.
“ Answer me,” whisper the smoke rings from behind the apple tree.
Who are you? A troubadour, a madman, a phantom of the night?
How does your beautiful voice penetrate the fort of my mind?
“ Would you mind dying?”
IV
She feared the pain.
“ There is none. She comes for you in a robe of rich red.
Not white, black or gray. Red.
I would have followed her honey-sweet scent to hell”.
The girl let her mind be conquered by his lilting tone, his bewitching voice,
His heavy words.
“Death taught me so much,” he said, stroking her hair.
“Don’t you find everything so different from up here?”
V
It takes more than a moment for the sense to sink in.
She screams silently in disbelief, “It can’t be!”
Then, standing up to muster all her strength, says she, “Prove it to me.”
“Come.” The maddening smile still lingers on his lips.
He leads her on, down the gravel path,past the village bakery .
Down the little bridge on the gurgling creek
that chattered secretively in the dark,
Through the forgotten orchards, to the place where she had first known love.
What was this? It was not her home.
It wasn’t even her house.
VI
She stared, stupefied. The dark dank columns of gloom stared right back at her.
The garden was destroyed : peonies defeated by brambles, weeds conquering the emerald carpet of grass.
The rosy bougainvillea on the porch looked like a surreal splattering of blood.
She fell to her knees, with the air of one betrayed.
“She came for you, my dear. Only you never saw her.
A pity.” Said her mystery-man.
“ I would’ve liked to know what she was wearing.”
VII
She could not stand him anymore.
Pushing away his warming embracing arms, she broke into a run.
The clouds made way to reveal the feline smirk of the moon.
Tears flooded her cheeks like the little creek in the rains.
She ran from her past, her present, her future.
The dark swallowed her up like a promise of forbidden love.
As pain racked that part of her where, once, a heart used to beat,
She swore she would never speak to strangers again.
---
[ Please read 'Stranger No More' on Dreamer's Diary to experience telepathic poetry. This is extemely freaky.
Seriously.]
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