The Diary Letter to Beatrice

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