The Stoned Wall
The beautiful, stoned wall garden
sunlight and barren but for a single rose.
Gazing at the stem which bore a rose of such beauty
his breath was stolen.
As he stared, the stem dissolved,
and the rose floated free amid glittering mists
that obscured all else.
It seems to lighten, change shape, floating
into a vision of
swirling mists, which became a face.
A face of fragile beauty,
the eyes held him entranced.
The lips parted, crimson, moistened,
appealing above them soft but vivid pools
of emerald green,
haunting, looking up at him.
The lips formed the words as they parted,
Reach out thy hand,
Pluck me...
Take thy bloom from your garden.
‘Tis yours for the holding.
He retreated onto the leafless torn jungle of his mind.
Not wanting to go there again...
The siren sounds of her voice beckoning him...
Blinding his will to all, but the beauty beckoning him.
He lunged forward, carelessly.
He almost seem to brush the blood red petals
before the vine caught him.
held him,
with evil eagerness the thorns
plunged deep into him, ripping their way
until he sobbed in agony
the burning whiteness of the pain
wiped away his vision.
Each movement freshened the ecstatic torture.
Falling into the deep flower bedecked forest
his vision was just that
A vision...
Copyright 1999 ACB
Copyright © Athena Beauchamp | Year Posted 2014
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