Heartweft

The cloud bank spilled its pearls upon the city despite defiance of the people below.Umbrellas deployed in unison like riflemen at the ready. Those who failed to procure armaments against the coming storm, made rich in worthless jewels.

The streets were slick with travellers from sea being splashed about the sidewalk, and amidst the Frantic front line scurried soldiers in suits. Businessmen seeking a destination, but, as a witnesses from my window, I remained in isolation from the virtuous repetition. The screeching blades of the vehicle that worked, in vein, to clear my vision.

A single, solitary respite from solidarity in the clouds above; a ray of radiance and dramatic divinity as she signalled me. Lost in a vast ocean of timeless infinity tailing inspiration of fantastic philosophers. Had they ever known love so intimately?

My heart, a butterfly, fluttering free when she glanced at me. The only sound of wings to be heard amidst the taxi. Horns heralding reality, like a brisk slap, had awoken me. Time, who’s constant pace had paused for me, departed rapidly, at the parting of this lovely lady, Mystery.

Instruments of passion lay in docile slumber. The silent strings cutting soundless repertoire to bleed upon the pages the ash of my once burning soul. And a scarf of sweet lavender now a sickening blow. Lovers, torn. Heavy hearts scorned while scarcely sung songs, hummed in a monotone monotony, are all but forgotten to me. Her face a fading memory adrift at sea.

A Toast to a nightmare, once so pleasant, an old taxi under fog glazed streetlights when stars run scared at night. The final, fleeting farewells of murderous ne’er-do-wells who’s lives touched but briefly.

Upon the wall, the clock’s exquisite, expectations trace no eyes that watch. Pitchfork jesters grant a gift of eternity for it’s unsmiling face. The facsimile of malevolence, meticulous to hold every second hostage. What is this madness beset upon me?

Name yourself, nameless watcher in the night. I am but a shell cast adrift in shadow of the moon while anger arose from the depths of despair. An all consuming vex of desperation staged as indecision of the broken heart. Sorrow or hatred? My reflection the only clue as you dare not tell me. Tell me who I am angry at! An excuse. An escape but nothing more.

The city—once home—harken the sound of oblivion. The passengers dim in distant perception, save for a beacon. Impossible, my lovestruck sight, returned. Surely as the crest of a dawning sun she returns with the splendour of the light. And her accompanying retinue of my sense and joy. She has returned to me adjoined in dear company. My anger all but spent on selfish pity devoid of meaning; now in perfect clarity I see. My dearest Mystery and her loving family.