Saturday, July 30, 2011

the cut

A stranger sits on this dark night
Slips silently out his lover’s door
Out into the cool harsh air.
He is leaving the warm fire,
the good food and mellow wine,
the softness of his lover’s breasts,
her velvet tongue, words dripping with sweetest honey.
Where is he going? Why is he leaving such a lovely place?
He is going out into the nighttime shadows, to face his own shadows.
He climbs onto his horse and gallops away,
leaving a trail of dust and a weeping woman in a still warm bed.
It is a full moon, and the air i heavy with foul stench of memories left to rot.
He arrives at the foot of a steep mountain,
looming high and deadly.
He has come this far already, one must keep going.
He looks back with one last yearning sigh, and begins the ominous trek.
It is hard, He trips many times, cutting and bruising already tendered skin.
Ripping his hands to shreds, as he hangs on to a cliff face.
He is so close - to certain death.
Up and up he goes, forever moving forward. No stopping him now.
Gasping for breath. Suddenly he stops. He has reached the top. The wind has stilled, the air is silent but for his heaving chest.
To his left, there is a cave. A light shines within, bright and welcoming.
He enters, and hears a soft voice echo within his mind,
“Welcome home. We knew you’d come. How we have missed you. Come, sit. See.”
It is wam within the cave. Peaceful.
There is a soft glow coming from nowhere visible, it draws him closer still.
Stopping in what seems to be the centre of the cave, he sits down,
and closes his eyes.

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