Notes About The Poem
This is a poem written a year after The House That Weeps Her Name.
It is a response to nearly falling into the same love and obsession , seeing the warnings of a toxic love and escaping before the fall.
Best tead i conjunction
True Colours of a Forgotten Name
A tilting lurch, a sudden frantic spin,
A jump to almost catch the edge of lightning,
An unlived memory of a forgotten house
restrains in broken bondage,
Closing my fist, I let the beguiling bolt drop.
My boot heels clatter madly on the boards,
a dizzy, breathless waltz with near disaster.
The room spins out in a manic wheel of gold,
curtains snapping like sails in a sudden gale,
Futures not yet realised now rewritten,
Pain once known never suffered, bright and radical glory.
No weeping halls. No empty, hollowed rooms.
No renounced hearts left bleeding on the stairs.
This is a riot of sound and light,
CHAOS,
A flash where the curtains tear wide open,
Your true colours splash across this bold new world,
fresh scarlet paint, sharp as a neon sign.
I see the trap door.
I see the warning flare,
and laugh right into the teeth of the storm.
A stumble, a catch, a wild and swinging recovery.
The gravity of a world where lessons learned snaps into place,
and I hit the ground with both feet running.
The drama stays, though mellow shadows burn away.
The burden of hauling millstones formed through marbled deceit rescinded,
The phantom heart once locked in rhythmic tempo with my own
Flatlines.
Ceases beating,
To be replaced with the thrill of the pivot,
The euphoric rush of escape.
I shake the dust from my trail weathered coat,
Grinning at the sky:
unscratched, untamed,
A heart completely unbroken.
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