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Wednesday
July 23, 2014
7:59am EDT


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Rated: E | Poetry | Tragedy | #1328403
"Can Love endure? And will it change anything?" With thanks to E.A. Poe
ALL SAINTS' DAY

Once upon a midnight fleeting,
lost in hoarfrost's chill'd white sheeting,
from a graveyard, decomposing,
came along a spinster prosing,
prosing to a black cat perched
upon a scarecrows' twisted form.

From her mouth, a'drool and foetid
(as fangs or nails on slate whetted,)
ripped a sound (a voice?) a screeching,
begging to be heard:  beseeching
to the black cat now supine
upon the scarecrows' squirming form.

"Hear me someone, hear my sorrow,
'ere the night become the 'morrow-
'ere the ghost whom I have mothered,
His blood-sucking EVIL smothered-
rises yet again within
the haunted hollows of my soul.

"Hearken back to the beginning,
when, before the horrid sinning,
I was but a simple healer-
poultices; an herbal dealer-
giving eases to the pains
as ever were brought to my door.
Only this, and nothing more.

                    All the while, the feline, silent,
                    thought in mental pictures violent
                    of the history HE was seeing.
                    Of the terror HE was fleeing!
                    Wond'ring why this tattered crone
                    was crying him her tale of woe?

                    Wond'ring if at all 'twould matter
                    if the crones' continued chatter
                    kept him from his nightly maunders-
                    from the cobwebs which he ponders
                    Wond'ring if he ought to grace
                    her grave confession with a yawn?

"Twas Dracula, the Count and Lord
the peasantry as one adored.
And I alone within his life,
his honored ladylove and wife.
Within the day his smile was warm
and all were welcome at his door.
Only this?  Or something more?

With each sunset he'd go walking,
Not the hunter:  sliding, stalking!
I, with books and herbs would nestle,
having yet no fears to wrestle-
seeing not the signs my heart
would not allow my eyes to see.

Signs?  No, my imagination.
Never evil machination.
Never could my Lord and lover
seek to hide, conceal or cover
darkness which could not exist
within a heart who'd touched my soul.
Made a half into a whole.

But deep within the dark of night,
the coldest dark, when fear burns bright,
his turgid eyeball cut the dark-
as slices thru' the brine, the shark!
And what was once a soul alive
was left a drained and  emptied husk.

Yes-
Drained they seemed- without the spark
of vibrancy in eyes now dark-
in bodies which, 'tho drawing breath
in every other sign wore death.

Such as these were brought to me
in fading, hollow'd, anguished hope.

And I had naught within my ken
to help or save these ghoulish men;
to un-bewitch  bewitching ails
as one and all with slackened sails
bereft Life's wind, no longer
coursed and sailed thru' Life's deep ocean.

                    'Twas then the cat turned in his eye
                    and saw once more a faded sky.
                    A faded sky they both did share,
                    ('Tho she as yet still unaware)
                    and spied, untold, the tales' end-
                    The mummy stripped, unwrapped and bare.

                    A goblin of a thought came howling-
                    'thru his mind (their mind!) came prowling,
                    prowling, growling recognition
                    of their sep'rate, shared perdition
                    on a night, an eerie night,
                    that harried them thru' centuries.

                    And now again he spied the urn
                    of Gods' foul water:  Felt it burn
                    and sear and melt away his skin,
                    ('tho reaching not the heart within)
                    thus laid open to the stake
                    which even NOW was arching down!

                    His EYE froze her with mons'trous will
                    'tho love refused to let him kill!
                    He willed again the change of form,
                    safe harbor from this deadly storm,
                    but with his skin, the water
                    burned both mind and mem'ry after...

"My wife?  Foul Murderess!" he cried.
"The deed has left me horrified!"
"Your righteous hand 'twas struck the blow-"
"This bony hand begat such woe..."

                                          The mem'ries spattered o'er them
                                            like a rotten pumpkin bursting.

"I thought to save you through the stroke:
instead to me was strapped this yoke.
Instead of striking evil down,
I struck my own heart to the ground!
I struck my love asunder
and have never found the pieces."


"So, 'twas still you, the soft white lights,
which tracked my mindless, frozen nights.
For somehow in my dark I've found
such pieces as were scattered 'round:
and in their light may hap I see
the man I once set out to be!"

                   
                                            And so these two who started,
                                            came again, anon, together.

Then from his perch, the cat dropped down-
the crone crept 'cross the frozen ground-
and as they touched, the sun appeared-
'tho cleansing, nonetheless it seared...
                                            ...and on that earthen spot left this:
                                                sad Loves' remains- An ashen kiss...

© Copyright 2007 PaulZ ~ Je Suis Le Reve ~ (UN: pzakaras at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
PaulZ ~ Je Suis Le Reve ~ has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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