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Portrait of a Painted Looking Glass
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Portrait of a Painted Looking Glass |
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EWDrake Member
since 2000-07-30
Posts 183NC, USA 
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Old habits are hard to break, especially when bonds are sanguine. Eyes that could be blue, but oft tear green look inside shadow to find the flicker of a light. Her mind hovers near the single candle she tries to keep with eternal flame to lead her from the space she knows can close too rapidly in. Fine blond hair stands on arms kissed with chill, as burgundy from cut crystal chalice offers false solace to enwrap a form slight of stature yet Redwood sound, though roots are oft forgotten. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It's an odd place for it, yes it's true. Bronzed frame buffers the honeyed oak door jam and covers full space between door and palest sage rice papered wall. When the door is open, the picture with its winding path cannot be seen. Yet when the door is closed, the illusion of a double door from the distance beckons with utter clarity. Screwed into the door jam, even with the upper right corner of the picture, is an antiqued bronze hook. A crooked finger of a curve inviting closer inspection, its polished metallic gleam inspiring a passing thought as to placement so obscure. Wrapping in her own pale arms to fight her chill, she places the still half full glass on the mirrored table beside the delicately blown glass menagerie of creatures mythical and real posed in jeweled spectrum from deepest emerald to rubied red creation as she leaves the room filling with shadow empty of her presence. Passing through foyer of midnight blue she pauses as hazel eyes focus on her doubled door. Soft subtle shading bathes in amber evening's glow as it catches a flagging hope within bronzed framework and reflects memory to mind's eye. Reaching up with unsteady hand, she traces cheek to ear and tucks a stray almost-auburn strand back from her clouding view. Allowing fingertips to trace tender neck to curve of shoulder she lifts from warming skin the fine silver chain that rarely leaves her neck even when blackest night closes in. Following the intricately linked trail to rest between soft breaths taken deeply, she lifts from safety's keep the treasure from her past. Slipping the chain over her head she lifts silky shadow-kissed tresses through her man made bond of self-captivity and reaches for the silent hook as a trembling hand speaks volumes while tarnished silver settles against door's frame. Then like Alice through her looking glass she reaches for a hand and steps into a life that might have been as boundaries blur with shades of gray to welcome her in once more. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A moment of chill kisses her cheek as the shadows flicker merely to more solidly surround, wrapping her in memories blended with new realities so well that the seams are no longer self-evident. Reality gives way to fantasy as a clouded perception is born, drawn by imagination, desire, and the need to simply FEEL again, even if it means seeking where it all began. Looking up into a sky devoid of sun she feels her own eyes watching as she meets the gaze of the lost figure looking up from below. Turning slowly her vision spans the horizon of her own mind and all was familiar, yet the balance was no more. Though she knows she did not walk the distance along the road on which she stands, she knows not how she happened to return to this spot at this moment in time. A small boy watches from a swing that was not there but a turn ago. He is familiar, though so distant that distinctions are not clear. Yet she knows he watches and cries. Slipping the confines drawn in sky and field empty but of she and the frightened child held by distance in place, she finds herself in a hallway and looks up into a face flushed with rage born in an instant. A kaleidoscope of colour explodes in her head as usually loving hand sends her reeling to the floor. The pattern shifts, yet the colours remain the same: bruised reds fading to yellowed black. After the storm, malevolent rainbows are inspected by two sets of gray-blue eyes – one pair feeling older beyond too-young years, the other too young to understand and growing quickly beyond simple tears. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ With eyes closed to avoid meeting her own gaze as her darkness falls, she watches her world spiral through the same sad spiel as days sweep into months until all is simply a collection of broken battered bits and shards of faintly coloured glass that cut only if touched with careless intent, awaiting collection in the middle of an empty room that once housed both hope and promise. She watches the shadowbox that has become her life as the scene replays itself for almost a decade, merely moving from room to room as the purple badges of displaced courage wage war with a frame slight of build but sturdy of misguided spirit as in public she stands tall as timid young woman grows into the strength that was always inside her. Allowing in the end a caring smile to lead a mind away as it cowers -- trained to shirk into shadowed recesses at a voice suddenly grown intensely calm -- she learns of kinder ways and quieter days. Kneeling finally to survey the damage, pale fingers reach into the remains of an antiqued pewter jewelry box left in pieces though treasured as a connection with an innocent past when eyes still smiled and lips rarely quivered, she lifts from the scrap heap of her day to day a pair of hands folded as if in prayer. With a slow smile, memory watches silvered hands turn to music only she can hear. A determined upsweep of mouth's corner leaves the broken dreams and bitter memories for another to filter thru later and releases long held breath she reaches for a door. Caressing hands folded in prayer and hope tucked into pocket safe, she vows if for none other to return for the painting hanging in foyer of a path leading to places unknown, drenched in filtered sunlit tones of ambered evening where a young mind often wondered pondering days ahead and a recent mind found strength to seek a path both familiar and unknown. Standing tall she opened her eyes but moved not an inch until the queasiness passed and she came to focus once more in the field of vacant thought. Yet this time the house she tried to make a home also stood behind the toddler, now a young boy with her eyes, his father's mouth and her dad's build. Finally her legs picked up the task, as her courage in the end willed it, and she crossed through high grasses and scattered poppies until she could see her eyes again. Then with a hand cool on his shoulder she turned him to the house and a day of packing finally began. Evan Drake |
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| © Copyright 2000 Evan W Drake - All Rights Reserved | |||
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StarrGazer Senior Member
since 2000-03-05
Posts 679Texas |
This was amazing! Such great detail and imagery! |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I have just read both of your prose pieces here, after reading your poetry yesterday... I knew I would be in for a treat... I was not disapointed.... they are both stunning and exquisite... you have an incredible gift sir... awe inspiring detail and imagery with suberb creativity and vision. I hope you take this the way I intend when I say I could fall in love with your written word.  hope you dont mind poetry worship *smile* take care jm There are places inside our souls - that have never been touched. There are places inside our hearts - that need to be loved this much. ~jm~ |
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EWDrake Member
since 2000-07-30
Posts 183NC, USA |
Starrgazer, Thank you. Now and again the mind takes a journey. This was such an exploration with a bit of memory blended in. I'm pleased you enjoyed it. Janet Marie, you read both in one setting? Brave and determined lady! Most writing until recently went into a journal with fine point plack ink. Only recently did I decide to start slipping into the modern keyboard era. Colour me a bit behind, but enjoying the sprint to the present. I'm thrilled to find a forum where I can pop the thoughts forth for comment. Thank you for the consistent glowing encouragement... Evan Drake With a long held breath given dark freedom, the single flame in sorrow's window flickers out. ~EWD~ |
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AnabelleBlue Junior Member
since 2000-08-02
Posts 28NM, USA |
Wistful, mystical, and dreamy. I think you've got something here. Great read. Ana |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Quite sorrowful, but I was glad to see that your heroine became just that...to start yet a new chapter that won't be filled with black and blue... well done! |
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