Chandeliers in gleaming jade did insulate hope's night,
hold back scattered mourning so trust could weather fright,
that albatross of grieving, that plague which soul has plucked;
broken wings of messengers when love runs out of luck.
How difficult the quest to self when others are involved,
and mysteries do morph, mutate when two cannot resolve,
the purgatory of caring, on royal roads of soul;
the journey to believe in life when suffering unfolds.
A thousands dreams may tumble in guttural deceit,
that twittering of fantasies when lies have been released,
and sea of pessimism drowns, the heart is slowly peeled;
a mindless bleeding, powerless, which even time won't heal.
The sound is ever-distant, those hummingbirds of faith,
hovering and balancing, mind's whirlwind from the grave,
of what was once relationship, now scattered on the ground;
scribbling of memory now writes what truth has found.
The tone here is classic with many fine lines to describe an age old and universal dilemma. When love runs out of luck the entire world seems to collapse inward and we are left to begin again without much hope.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
"How difficult the quest to self when others are involved". And that is the thing...often we are embarking on a quest for self when other are around. I'm once again impressed with your ability to use these words and weave some vivid imagery into existence. Magnificent.
ReplyDelete-Nicole