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The Rose and the Thorn
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The Rose and the Thorn |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
The Rose and the Thorn (A short story) Bright sunlight dancing in her golden hair Resembling shimmering dew on pedals of a Prominent Rose The scent she wore that day a refreshing summer rain Sunshine glimmering in her sweet eyes all aglow. A vision through mirrored eyes, skewed in ripples and waves His mind clouded by a past liquation in self-existence, tainted by An over indulgence of fluid sprits, those sprits which do not let go; they hold the weakened in their deepest places Griping the mind with talons of sharpened bone, twisting, and twisting, until the fight to unhand the grip, loosens in its acceptance. As a slumbering flow, gliding across open cliffs dangling high above tragedy, in a place he had now assumed as his own - honed identity. Those sprits pranced around in his mind consuming better judgment to know but not to comprehend. Nevertheless, how could he have shown love for her? He was just that novel student of life’s truth and love, a newborn to devotion. He was a thorn piercing into the hands of trust, and hope, and honesty: That love given once in life, not for strife, not for shame, but for singularity’s duet; and yet, those sprits placed their threat, silently twisting joy – that fragrance of the rose contorted by the thorn on its very stem – a stem for the sustenance of joy in love. Sprits fighting against her glow and radiance, competing - and yet there in her white gown; and her rose ’n - cheeks and reflecting smile she quieted those sprits and her grace won over, that day - and his eyes raced transversely over her; deep into her compassion, her shy beauty, enveloping all of her into his heart through his hazy eyes; begging his mind to hold her there to stay; and on that, it did obey. His silent dreams of her were alive and tingling on the tips of his fingers as they joined hands for that solemn ritual, and that single pledge on a kiss with quivering lips a bond to never stray but to be held to that song of happiness: joy and love; forever and a day. His heart filled with love in pursuit her own. That night would prove tantalizing and refreshing in their castle alone, passion unrestrained, and love grandeur – walls built around that duet’s song – nonetheless not realizing the bitterness soon to arouse, that which was wrong. Losing to the sprit’s spaces was to be the incrassating mixture undoing this life’s love – her love, building strife and shame. To his name – she would soon loose heart to whim, as he had gone to the sprit’s place, his comforting place, which he had found for him alone. Recessed into that cave where those liquid sprits lived – abandoned and ashamed poignant sprits taking hold, there refracting gilt filled with veins of fool’s gold. Places he could not allow friendship to enter in, nor express to any not familiar. Those places of cold and sharpened stone were neither for her, nor a protected place for any who might have meandered in - in that home of lost love, and unrequited dark caves of fear and loneliness. Years quietly moved past, and at last those sprits moved on - gone. Their high and deadly cliffs torn down – replaced by the calmness of a quiet blue sea – a new land lay just ahead. He drew in a familiar breath, realizing the blight had ceased, the sprits whisked away, now beginning a new and different day – the sprit’s grip had disappeared - gone forever – leaving his heart an emptied stem intended only for a rose, that rose that once was his life. His tears streamed, unfathomable and poring out like rivers of his life, and yet, he was unable to replenish the loss deafened in his heart. There in his heart her song is played on brass violins. He listens intently as she sings; as she once did, her words echoing throughout his mind and heart: they have only just begun. A fantasy swims in the ocean of his mind, repeating vibrantly of her display - her smile, white gown, and rosen cheeks. Visions of the years, to him, seem as weeks, even days at times - in his dreams of her so meek. His dreams have replaced those sprit’s dark places – replaced by their song, Singularity’s song and rhyme – now dancing with moon beams where the sun was once a delight; and her voice is echoing clear: we have only just begun. To the rose he proclaims: For only a moment in time, it was her love’s shine that was indeed his – from the cliffs of death her kind soft pedals had pulled him away, and although he had lost her, he still had won – he had held that rose in his heart and mind. That rose, which still lives in the heart of the thorn. She said: ”You look cute in the dark.” |
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ESP Member Elite
since 2000-01-25
Posts 2556Floating gently on a cloud.... |
Interesting read. I found it difficult to follow, though luckily for me the last few lines sum it all up nicely. I would say there are too many qualifiers flying around in there, maybe if you take some out then the ones you leave will have more effect. Also, unless it is specifically the effect you were trying to achieve, you abstracted a lot. The pace seemed a bit rushed, breathe in the atmosphere and let the reader catch up with you! Thanks for sharing. Liz x "Time has told me not to ask for more, one day our ocean will find its shore" ~Nick Drake |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
Thanks Liz X. A rewrite is in the works. JL  She said: ”You look cute in the dark.” |
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