Isle of roses
Once before, I had walked down a red carpeted isle
to glimpse your solemn face, a memory forever mine.
Why fate had to be so vile,
I still can’t comprehend, and yet here I stand before your shrine.
I had thought of the future, of what lay ahead,
and it stung. I would tread an isle again,
without you. My supposed joyful day would be my dread.
My white gown would bear sorrow’s stain.
Still, I could envision it: beside a rocky shore,
in the rain, ravished by the wind, beneath a veil of thunder…
Would you have thought it foolish lore?
This fantasy and chase after nature’s wonder?
NO! You would also have seen it, wouldn’t you?
The ocean rising violently like a stampede of wild mustangs,
the wind racing for its destination: adventures new,
the heaven’s shower baring its fangs?
Or would you have had me trod in a valley
under crystalline dusk and precipices,
appearing unbroken, all smiles and glee,
along the isle of roses?