Below is the poem entitled Gilded Return which was written by poet
julius. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Slowly with unstable steps, she approaches.
The room is dank a foreboding intensity permits the air.
She is shaking as the memories wrap their inky hands around her throat.
The terror starts to build as the anguish she'd managed to lock away becomes unleashed.
It is feral, with fangs and razor sharp claws.
The beast she'd burned turning into the regret of a monster for all of her sins.
The room once furnished so lavishly now had boards bared through plaster showing holes allowing vermin and insects to do with the place as they wished.
In her eyes, the room was in it's glory as it had always been.
The candle wax began to drip onto her hand.
Her eyes now resembled that of a newborn doe's as her eyes fell to a heavy book.
Bound with crisp thick paper and worded with the freshest ink and sharpest quill.
The satin was superb in all of it's glossy onyx nature, her home.
One step after another, fragile feet glide over the floor, rustling of pristine skirts.
Her breath became heavy and idly half of her mind wondered if she was suffocating.
All too soon it seemed she was standing before the book, hardly did her eyes stray,
yet memory served her well as the old oak table was exactly the same to her as before.
He haunted her in every aspect within her life.
All she held dear was slowly crumbling until insanity threatened to become a reality.
What was her old lover's memories attempting to provoke within her?
Anger? Surely not she only dwelt with remorse and regret for wasting precious time.
Heedless of her warnings to her own mind she could not run from the chocolate of his eyes.
Nor could she handle being bombarded with guilt at every smile that slipped over her features.
If only he could see her now, he would relish her miserable exsistance.
Death was a mask wedged deeply into her very cells and she accepted it.
This last dream had become her undoing it would appear, for here she was.
For every good memory and ghastly deed she had locked within this book.
A memento of her exsistance for she feared being forgotten when the earth reclaimed her essence.
With loving fingers and velvety skin she caressed the spine of the book.
With a bitter sweet smile she took the slightest corner of the tome and eased it open.
Immediatly musk and a definate spice bombarded her senses in a pleasing array.
The nearly unrecognizable strings of words no doubt made sense for any with mind enough to carry a magnifying glass of sorts.
Sitting with a sigh she spoke quietly.
I am Home.