LCK
Acrobat
Transcendent Triangle of Love
I come here in the twilight
Beneath the Indian summer moon
When the day's sultry heat softens and cools
Into night air edged with autumn's first rustlings.
Change. Transition. Yearning. Regret.
It is all here, caught up in the moon, the twilight,
The changing seasons, the shifting realities,
As I silently sit on a fallen log by water's edge,
The wooded area to the left of my view,
Violet shadows deepening and shimmering
On the hushed expectant sea.
I wonder if he will come tonight, my ghostly Romeo,
If I wait silently, still.
He has become but a shadow of this world,
Slave to the master of his pain. Searching.
Always searching. Calling for her. His beloved.
I hadn't believed the local legends at first,
A romantic fable of a nineteenth century nobleman
Still walking the earth in search of his lost bride.
There had been an argument, a terrible one, where words were hurled
As weapons bent on wounding hearts once cherished.
She had cried, broken-hearted, and run from him,
Taken a boat out onto the waters as a storm raged overhead.
He had called to her, gone after her, but the brutal elements'
Malevolence separated them, the sea claimed her life and took with it
His heart and soul. Her body was never found, but the nobleman
Never relinquished his search. Not ever.
There was never another beloved, he lived out his life
A shell of the man he had once been, penning morose poetry,
Living by the waters that had claimed her,
Living with the guilt and sorrow that often became too much to bear.
It was the cause of his pneumonia, the local myth held,
Searching the shoreline on stormy nights, even when his head
Grew grey and bowed, his body frail and wracked from his obsession.
Beloved. Lost beloved. Her name was on his lips on his deathbed,
A lock of her youthful hair, now faded, held desperately in
His gnarled old hands. Yet in death he found neither peace nor
His beloved and the ghost of his youth still walks these shores,
Calling, seeking. Eternally yearning.
It is my name he calls, though I am not she.
Yet I am filled with a yearning to bear witness to such a
Tender and stalwart a love. I am jealous of the beloved,
To have such hold over his heart that he will endlessly search,
Eternally love, for I am no-one's beloved and even though
I am here, alive, a flesh and blood woman, no-one searches for me.
No man has ever clasped me to his heart so tightly
That love transcends both death and time.
Laurie
I come here in the twilight
Beneath the Indian summer moon
When the day's sultry heat softens and cools
Into night air edged with autumn's first rustlings.
Change. Transition. Yearning. Regret.
It is all here, caught up in the moon, the twilight,
The changing seasons, the shifting realities,
As I silently sit on a fallen log by water's edge,
The wooded area to the left of my view,
Violet shadows deepening and shimmering
On the hushed expectant sea.
I wonder if he will come tonight, my ghostly Romeo,
If I wait silently, still.
He has become but a shadow of this world,
Slave to the master of his pain. Searching.
Always searching. Calling for her. His beloved.
I hadn't believed the local legends at first,
A romantic fable of a nineteenth century nobleman
Still walking the earth in search of his lost bride.
There had been an argument, a terrible one, where words were hurled
As weapons bent on wounding hearts once cherished.
She had cried, broken-hearted, and run from him,
Taken a boat out onto the waters as a storm raged overhead.
He had called to her, gone after her, but the brutal elements'
Malevolence separated them, the sea claimed her life and took with it
His heart and soul. Her body was never found, but the nobleman
Never relinquished his search. Not ever.
There was never another beloved, he lived out his life
A shell of the man he had once been, penning morose poetry,
Living by the waters that had claimed her,
Living with the guilt and sorrow that often became too much to bear.
It was the cause of his pneumonia, the local myth held,
Searching the shoreline on stormy nights, even when his head
Grew grey and bowed, his body frail and wracked from his obsession.
Beloved. Lost beloved. Her name was on his lips on his deathbed,
A lock of her youthful hair, now faded, held desperately in
His gnarled old hands. Yet in death he found neither peace nor
His beloved and the ghost of his youth still walks these shores,
Calling, seeking. Eternally yearning.
It is my name he calls, though I am not she.
Yet I am filled with a yearning to bear witness to such a
Tender and stalwart a love. I am jealous of the beloved,
To have such hold over his heart that he will endlessly search,
Eternally love, for I am no-one's beloved and even though
I am here, alive, a flesh and blood woman, no-one searches for me.
No man has ever clasped me to his heart so tightly
That love transcends both death and time.
Laurie
