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The Diary Letter to Beatrice


(A lone voice whispers, as the right hand, takes careful notes)

In the deepest of silence 
I always walk 

Deep in thoughts, into my own created Maelstrom of Defiance

As memories of you appear slowly, like a wild moorland winter fog

Which slithers, rolls and returns

With a soft hint of a time that was truly priceless

Announced with a slight shiver, running down my spine, that burns

As the air magically fills with that so familiar pulsating scent, of Chanel N°5

That makes me wilt and pine, as all my sharpened senses, quickly come alive 

An imagination mind trick, that if I told any doctor

They would put me straight into, any asylum, with this wrap up line

"Old man, isn't it time you dropped her?"

It's usually then, that feel your presence and visually embrace 

In my mind's cathedral of memories, all those lingering thoughts and images 

Whispering like feverish crows

About everywhere, we once went

Before our descent, from the pinnacle of grace, as we got old

Especially whenever I look in our old silver mirror, and start feeling cold 

When I still see reflected, your dark eyes, looking back at me

Which carries a hint of your sweet snarl, encased within a smile. I once used to call, heaven sent. 

But when those loving sensations slowly fade

And life winds once more, blows my way

And the mind fog, stops rolling in from my mind's, Highlands

Returning me to Reality Island

Just know, my twin flame in my Eternal White Room

I still carry you and your beautiful name, to the tomb

Deep inside, wherever I go

For your husky voice always rides and rules my internal highways, whenever I smell that so loved perfume 

Like a reborn Gail 
In a New Sin City
Called The Hippocampus

A place I call too, like George Kelby Jr. 

Who once went to Cross Creek trying to find forgiveness

When Doubt calls and bills me

Whenever I try to remember

Why even after all these years, I still feel so guilty 

About there no longer being, a living tale about us

(C)
Copyright John Duffy
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