ODE UNTO THE MYSTICS OF FABLE. Captivated, you were, by the idea of an ever after. Chariots, awaited with horses drawn at your beckoning; a connection to a far off reality. Beyond your dreams, you awaken with a torch of light, aghast and unmoving. Near existence at the core of Amaranth and akin to Alice, you follow the white rabbit. Away it takes you, that inkling of fear but wonder that made you fall so very far. Your feet they tread on new terrain as you walk to a place you have yet to bear witness. Akin to the likes of Death Valley –your innocence a reminder of a skeleton told stories ago. Yet your bones feel heavy and that parchment gripped tightly feels light.
Your pulse, for it beats no longer, bears witness to behold a circadian rhythm. A hymn of solitude for your days spent. Here, no less, a constant reminder. And through the looking glass your eyes widen at the beauty of Horae’s doing. Bestowed with ripeness, they come and go in accordance to nature and life abide, these tides, turning for Cilla. And o’er to Icarus, the sun you wish, as did he, to be closer to; for the sight before you: a repertoire of a soon grand escapade.
YOUR HANDS, CHILLED & FOREIGN, with the temptation. And like the fruit you bite, agreeing to enter an event of endless wonder. Your soliloquy, a memory, perhaps even a dream, endless tales of nights akin to these with your best attire & those who floated across the dance floor with such etiquette –surely it would be one to remember. And so you cave; eyes quick to read over the letter addressed to you. And, to you, it feels as though you’re personally being asked: be our guest –they’d whisper. A quiet, melodic sound to your ears. And so you’d agree.
