The Stoned Wall

The beautiful, stoned wall garden sunlight and barren but for a single rose. Gazing at the stem which bore a rose of such beauty his breath was stolen. As he stared, the stem dissolved, and the rose floated free amid glittering mists that obscured all else. It seems to lighten, change shape, floating into a vision of swirling mists, which became a face. A face of fragile beauty, the eyes held him entranced. The lips parted, crimson, moistened, appealing above them soft but vivid pools of emerald green, haunting, looking up at him. The lips formed the words as they parted, Reach out thy hand, Pluck me... Take thy bloom from your garden. ‘Tis yours for the holding. He retreated onto the leafless torn jungle of his mind. Not wanting to go there again... The siren sounds of her voice beckoning him... Blinding his will to all, but the beauty beckoning him. He lunged forward, carelessly. He almost seem to brush the blood red petals before the vine caught him. held him, with evil eagerness the thorns plunged deep into him, ripping their way until he sobbed in agony the burning whiteness of the pain wiped away his vision. Each movement freshened the ecstatic torture. Falling into the deep flower bedecked forest his vision was just that A vision... Copyright 1999 ACB