by Anna Williams
Beneath the shadow of the sky
I felt the wind pulse, watched it fly.
In the autumn, in the storm,
The wind was true, the wind was warm.
Warmer than what I’d become
For I was empty, cold, and numb.
Like a blossom in the frost
That dies in heartache and is lost
Despairing it will never be
Young again; will never see
The moonlit dewdrop’s quiet birth
And fades to cold, black, callous earth…
I hungered no more for the stars.
I raised myself against the bars,
And shut away each desperate scheme.
A dream no longer was a dream.
Standing by the barren isle,
There was a lie behind my smile.
The mountain storm could touch me not
And not the sea. For I had sought,
And I had failed. And I had hated
Every hope my heart created.
By the strength my eyes beguiled,
I grew old when still a child.
And so I sank, forgot, and sighed
But for whispers, deep inside;
But for wishes to return.
And yet the dread to fail, to burn,
Overpowered dying love.
With one last frantic glance above,
I longed that I might live once more,
To suffer truth, as long before.
Desperate prayer in the sand…
I reached out my quivering hand,
And felt the blue light of the sky
The moon’s cold breath fell to my eye,
And as the summer winds wash tears,
A memory washed away my fears.
Beating heart and burning breath,
Love reawakened from the death,
Shivering flesh against the night
Awakened to a dying light.
A quiet child sleeps peacefully,
Somewhere deep inside of me,
Who knew her love and knew her name;
Spoke no hatred, felt no shame;
Who knew a true, unbroken mirror,
Bore no secret, hid no tear.
She laughed upon a starlit beam,
Without fear and without scheme,
Seldom hid herself from pain,
And never shuttered in the rain.
Subtle age tears at the young.
Songs are withered and resung.
After a day or a million years
Of soft oblivion and fears,
Of quiet panic, bursting sin,
Silent fight raged deep within,
Hearts are crushed and are reborn
From the blood upon the thorn.