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~Fairer Than Thou~
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You are far from here.
I had waited for you into the cloaking of the night, when hour upon hour fell like a stone into an endless well of still, silent breath, held in anticipation. There was naught but a whispering on the air, a voice tolling like a bell in the emptiness of the dark; and I slept, or feigned sleep, for its words plagued me, fever-like and comfortless.
I would ask you to come to me. Do you not remember the heat of my kiss, a solitary embrace between the two of us, alone yet forged together in each other's arms? You found repose whilst lying beside me, cold in the breath of night; a momentary relief from the guilt which I know we share. This is our binding, not unmade by steel or fire, by life or death. Wherein will the end come?
My love.
A red sun rises. Do you remember that night? It is black in the depths of my heart, unreal as a dream recalled in the cold light of day. Who knew a man could have so much blood? Water could not wash the smell away; not pure water from the hills, turned poison with the redness. His life was on our hands, a mark like a scar, never to be removed, a testament to our deed.
I cannot say it! My dear, my brave one, my fearless defender. I could not tell you of my own dread, for is it not a woman's duty to find strength in her frailty? My words were bold that night, unbecoming my sex, but you saw truth in them and I would not betray you by turning back on that which I had sworn to do. If I could give to you what we had lost, then my fulfilment would be reward enough.
Will you not come to me? I have waited for you, here beneath the coverlet, feeling the empty void in the darkness where you had once been. In my black dreams I oft behold the spots upon my hands, red against the white, and still the smell of blood haunts me. No scent will mask it. And where are you, my love? You are not here to comfort me. Where are you?
Hark! the clock strikes and I must rise. The dawn has a silver tongue. Its voice is crystal fair, but there is little solace in daylight. What of you, my husband? Is there help to be found? There is still so much that has not yet come to pass, whatever the hours may bring. We will see.
I will wait for you.
You are far from here.
I had waited for you into the cloaking of the night, when hour upon hour fell like a stone into an endless well of still, silent breath, held in anticipation. There was naught but a whispering on the air, a voice tolling like a bell in the emptiness of the dark; and I slept, or feigned sleep, for its words plagued me, fever-like and comfortless.
I would ask you to come to me. Do you not remember the heat of my kiss, a solitary embrace between the two of us, alone yet forged together in each other's arms? You found repose whilst lying beside me, cold in the breath of night; a momentary relief from the guilt which I know we share. This is our binding, not unmade by steel or fire, by life or death. Wherein will the end come?
My love.
A red sun rises. Do you remember that night? It is black in the depths of my heart, unreal as a dream recalled in the cold light of day. Who knew a man could have so much blood? Water could not wash the smell away; not pure water from the hills, turned poison with the redness. His life was on our hands, a mark like a scar, never to be removed, a testament to our deed.
I cannot say it! My dear, my brave one, my fearless defender. I could not tell you of my own dread, for is it not a woman's duty to find strength in her frailty? My words were bold that night, unbecoming my sex, but you saw truth in them and I would not betray you by turning back on that which I had sworn to do. If I could give to you what we had lost, then my fulfilment would be reward enough.
Will you not come to me? I have waited for you, here beneath the coverlet, feeling the empty void in the darkness where you had once been. In my black dreams I oft behold the spots upon my hands, red against the white, and still the smell of blood haunts me. No scent will mask it. And where are you, my love? You are not here to comfort me. Where are you?
Hark! the clock strikes and I must rise. The dawn has a silver tongue. Its voice is crystal fair, but there is little solace in daylight. What of you, my husband? Is there help to be found? There is still so much that has not yet come to pass, whatever the hours may bring. We will see.
I will wait for you.