Your eyes are like the golden echo of an ancient chamber
like God's gift granted
like love poured from an alabaster vase
like sacred sand, stained with blood
like first blood
like the taste of disappointment
like so many forgotten childhood dreams and memories
like a silver bell in a dark room
like something you can't explain but you know is there
like the solstice
like a need
like a friend you've never met before
like castles in the clouds
like a phantom limb
like what home must feel like.
She creates her own architecture,
giant barrel-vaulted ceilings, crackling with light and violence.
Endless vistas painted painted in broad brushstrokes,
towering above my ant-like body.
Great sky-waves threatening to crash down and wash me away,
grind me down,
erode me
until there is nothing left, not even a memory to cling to.
When she turns her back she leaves me in silent darkness, waiting for her to change her mind.
With a shift of her hips she leaves me hot and cold.
What can I do but pray for her forgiveness?
In the land of Karakite
there lays a castle out of sight.
The wretched king there bears no name,
It's utterance was lost to shame.
On his throne he sits defiant,
and barren halls still echo silent.
It always snows in Karakite.
It snows all day and snows all night.
No one stays in Karakite,
those that stay are doomed to pray,
those that flee are doomed to fight
Drifts and dunes build up from snow.
What lurks beneath we do not know.
For lonely places are home to many a crime
and places such as this are old as oldest time.
I don't know how long I wandered in that white oblivion. I don't even know how it was I got to be there. At the time it didn't seem to matter. There was something hypnotic about the crunch of snow under my feet, the way the pale sunlight filtered through the heavy falling snow. There was no wind to speak of, and somehow the deafening silence made the cold seem less dangerous. It seemed peaceful to wander in such a lonely place, and for a time I believed I was alone. I remember being surprised when I found it. It seemed preposterous that there should be a human settlement in this shapeless land, doubly preposterous that I should find it through the heavy falling snow. It had seemed a given that I must be wandering in circles, as I had no bearings, and the constant falling snow prevented backtracking for anything more than a few minutes. It was chance to find that place, chance or fate.
I lost my words the other day.
The wind picked up,
they flew away.
On and on the wind they flew.
Where they went
I wish I knew.
Yet somehow,
I hope they'll find someone someday.
I hope they'll find someplace to stay.
