Part 3: AT HEAVEN’S GATES
To set Her free from destiny was far from my design,
but, though unplanned, I touched Her hand, to give Her peace of mind.
She told me then, and then again, that providence Divine
had cast a curse, and even worse: despised by all mankind,
She walked alone, unseen, unknown, along an empty line.
To break this spell of living hell, of loneliness enshrined,
and end Her days within the haze, She said one final deed
would give reprieve and maybe leave our destinies entwined.
Her final quest be put to rest if only I agreed,
but no surcease nor perfect peace nor hope if I declined.
The shadows crawled and silence mauled the night Her fate was sealed
while towers peered or disappeared beyond the floating fog.
The skyline cracked and starlight slacked and chimes of children pealed
and in the hills where midnight chills, there bayed a dying dog.
Without delay I showed the way, the path to Potter’s Field.
Her weathered face was lined with Grace, Her eyes shone emerald green.
With me as guide she stepped inside to grieve and mourn Her loss,
and thereupon, though pale and wan, the night took on a sheen.
With weary eyes as Her disguise, She placed a wooden cross
upon a mound, unhallowed ground, and whispered ‘Sibylline...’.
A falling star flashed from afar and burst in bolide flame.
Beneath the light, the final rite no longer hid undone.
And kneeling there in silent prayer, we seemed to share the shame
but could atone if left alone, forevermore as one.
Before we both could speak an oath, I asked Her for Her name.
Through lips, pale red, She simply said ‘They called me Abigail’.
Beneath a birch where white doves perch, I took Her for my bride,
beheld Her smile a little while, but all to no avail...
A rumpled shape, Her cloak and cape, lie empty at my side...
For now She waits at Heaven’s Gates, not far beyond the Pale.