The Ancients

I spoke a whisper to the night sky.
It was midnight, when the birds are silent,
tucked inside leaf blankets.
I gave the soft breeze my sorrow
let it pass between the misted clouds
where floats anger and comfort... and doubt.
I spoke of ancients, their slightly frizzed red locks
bouncing, matted against moist foreheads,
moments I remember, thousands of years ago.
We held connections with fires where our feet danced,
merry, kind, fed and free.
I breathed of memories, rolled out carpets of emerald green,
when the laughter echoing through the forest was the only
time life reflected the bitter scream.
We walked that night, my heart and I,
beneath a shower of stars, winking eyes of silver,
and I held her hand as she cried.
It was undeniably unpleasant, and she ripped me
over
and over
until all that remained were dancing teardrops
waltzing crassly across the sand dunes.
It was November mid - when the rain began
soft mist against my hair making it fluff
thick into the autumn darkness;
still I sang to the moon,
songs of what once was when I lay beside my lover
naked flesh pressed together beneath the
linen I had woven for our bed,
smells of jasmine beneath the straw mattress,
we were one solitary moment in time
when the Gods smiled blessings on the rye,
beer flowed aplenty at wooden tables
laden with mercies;
and my eyes ached from the thoughts,
from the memories that I couldn't quite
see clearly,
and thus I wept in anger
that I was forbidden passage in this life;
that my path was buried in misgiving,
fortitude, separation... and death.
I wished on the stars that wouldn't shoot,
on the crickets chirping their maddening chants,
on the flower petals closed to the night awaiting
the morning sun;
I counted each pattern on the lunar face,
threw my desperate need to her glow,
begged for understanding of why
I must live this life denied
of truths, permission or admittance.
I was forgiven, was I not,
or was there some unrelenting horror
that these never ending lifetimes had chosen
to disguise in order to maintain my sanity?
She gave me no answer;
no reprieve inside the blackness,
no bandages for the torn skin
a result of my fists doing the tango with the stones
pummeling the pain into their hardened shell.
I crawled on my knees, and I mourned.
I'm not hidden here, but I feel inconspicuous,
a tiny fish swept about inside of the vast ocean.
I just want to have back the pieces of me
that have been stolen over the centuries.

~ws~