The Bottle

broken-bottle-glasses.jpg

Tempestuous gusts,
Shivering that echoes my soul,
As the trees shriek and squeal,
And the wind-chimes sound
Like they’re dying
On the shuddering breath
Of grief
As my wrung heart cries
An anguish that stutters
On morals and vows
The wind screams, lawless
As my heart trembles
Words falling off my lips
As indiscreetly as
Leaves stripped off the bough
By razor blades of ice
That burn like fire
in the pit of the belly:
Repressed passion,
Or was it the love
Of a soulmate denied,
Tamped down and bottled,
Almost forgotten
Shattered open
never to close, again?
And the trees beat themselves
With war-cries
The wind lashing
Deep grooves in their skin
Punishing, raging, weeping,
Unforgiven for denying
What was pure, true, and beautiful:
A spring of the loveliest roses
Warm, balmy butter of sun,
Velvet skin in semi-darkness
A cup of joy overflowing;
A perfect magical tapestry
That lasted and unfolded
A story told
In golden threads,
Until the world crushed it
And it crumbled
Like dust in the hand;
The final ember,
Still very alive,
Buried,
at the bottom of a bottle
That waited for
The violent gust
To shatter it.

 

~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

Public domain photo courtesy of Pixy.org

The Void and The Veil

Your bones, your flesh, so firm one moment – so capable of receiving healing. Your thoughts, your spirit, so fixed within you, so capable of interacting with others whom you love. One moment, and then, the next, you’re gone. The flesh no longer lives, the thought that breathed life into it has wandered or shot out of the shell, quick as a fraction of a moment, gone before we have been able to draw breath to say goodbye. Oh, and how different your eyes without your spark behind them, and how nightmarish they have become for the echo we still remember there. We look, and our own eyes, and our hearts, begin to bleed the tears of loss for being forced to release you before we were ever ready to. Now, the world is different, your echo is everywhere – the space in which you belong, in which you once stood or laid, is unnaturally vacant, abandoned; and there is a void, like a black hole sucking at the light and our hearts, which is felt whenever we see or sense your not-thereness. That void, that emptiness where you should be, tears at us whenever we encounter it, catches us off-guard, and it feels like your going has ripped a tear in the fabric of reality; as though, perhaps, if we were to stand or lay where you once did, we could reach through the veil and touch your spirit and maybe feel whole again. Death is not the worst thing that can happen to a person or animal, it is simply the worst thing that can happen to those who love them. I found your hair today on my bag while I was out, and I nearly fell apart. You are constantly reminding me of your existence, no more here, absent but unforgotten. I miss you, and my heart is still bleeding its tears.

For Frank, and for Ashley