There is a pause, a hesitation. Perhaps this time, the mind holds sway over the heart. The pulse quickened and the butterflies take flight.
No more diving headlong into whatever will be, will be. Contemplation and restraint bring some order to the chaos.
Less falling all over the place, stumbling over old, familiar feelings. It is easier to see more clearly, the truth hiding in the unknown.
Offering a clear conscience, regarding choices made. Good, bad, or indifferent. New beginning or old habits, there is clarity.
I enjoy playing with cinquain poetry from time to time. The rules are simple in an American cinquain. Line one, 2 syllables, line 2 gets 4 syllables, line 3 you need 6 syllables, line 4 it’s 8 syllables, and the 5th line is back to two syllables.
I do on occasion use a more colorful language, so please forgive me that, ahead of time.
Girl my old friend
How are you, I am fine
Do you recall the love we shared
You will find it
How much do you require
Take the whole thing it won’t expire
About what now
Always the same it seems
Your wants over the best for us
Is what she said
After finding the one
She can no longer live without
I call her that
In our time of passion
With the lights low or anywhere
Can you say it
You loved her first without failing
Gracefully she appears to me, like the rarest of delta birds. Bringing with her a gentle song and a calming spirit. Delighting in the charms of such a beautifully made and elusive presence, I am lost in wonderous observation.
She offers me a glimpse into her world. Allowing me to witness from afar, the rituals and interpretations that make her whole. With a sophistication and confidence, I covet, my deepest desires are manifest.
For but a fleeting moment, does she grant me audience. I do not hold her interest, while she charms my heart. Though I beg her stay, as quickly as she arrives, my captivating delta bird takes flight. Leaving me in prayer, that soon she will arrive once again to captivate my soul.
In a parallel universe, a land only similar to our own, filled with swords and sorcery, demons and vampires, and dragons, our tale begins.
On the outskirts of New Orleans, sets a once glorious castle. The decay and ruin, painting a picture of the despair and loss felt across this region.
Inside the crumbling gothic walls, dwells the most beautiful maiden, Morgaine Le Rouge, the last of a once noble and powerful family. Flowing black hair, dark eyes, an alluring face, and the most dead of hearts beating inside a shapely, pleasing form. She was rescued by a runaway slave woman, during the onslaught that befell this place years ago.
Lady Le Rouge, having mastered the darkest of necromancy arts, has returned to these defiled lands of her childhood home, in the hopes of communicating with her murdered mother. The only other desire driving the dark haired beauty is to exact vengeance on those who stole her life.
It Is from here, our Lady will take up the mantle of leader. A band of warriors, forged by prophecy will reveal themselves to her. Together they will confront an evil far greater than any of them had imagined.
(This character is part of a planned series of short stories currently underway.)
Their eyes met in the realm of possibility. Their lives intersecting along that scape, where interests often collide.
Sharing a curiosity, engaging in a little myth making. Together, they forge nothing into machinations constructed to arouse the imagination.
Her beauty is evident, he also caught a glimpse of her strength. Her words soft and sweet, to him like lace and honey, they denote determination and unwavering conviction.
He delights equally in her flirtation and her practical sensibilities. He cherishes the honesty in their passion and the wisdom in her counsel.
Her words are carved deep into the signposts of this journey. She speaks with a wisdom, a knowledge of life, it should require lifetimes to amass.
She captivates me. Delighting me with her stunning tales of torment. Allowing me to know her sorrow. To caress her pain. I had thought once, they were a cry for help. I have come to discern, to appreciate fully, that she simply reflects my own despair.
As words spoken into a deep and wide canyon, her utterances, are as an echo reverberating back to me. Delivered by her voice calm and sweet her tear stained narrative seduces my soul.
She makes me laugh as often as we share a tear. Though it is the misery which has bound we two together. To the affliction of adoration we are tethered.
Reminding me of the heavy cost exacted in anguish born of having danced too long with heartache.
Was it still there? The sadness mingling with the explicit scent of lilacs.
In the burning darkness of a pitch-black room, she is no longer on the outside looking in.
She had contemplated this moment for so long it seems. Her dreams, now dancing with her reality.