Concoctions

What an odd mess we make off ourselves, preceded by romantic dreams, wretched loneliness and self-manifested wanderings.

Had you not been lying beside the majestic blue vase, faintly illumined by a golden streak of ray that carved through the barred window, I would not have clutched my heart at ill-ease.

Had your skull not been wrapped in blood and sweat, beneath which your eyes sparkled upon my sight, lowly and unconsciously, welcoming my presence, as I tended to your wounds, I would not have trembled upon the warmth of your touch.

Had I not rushed past the screaming soldiers, each grasping the hem of my gown, in solemn desperation, as I fervently searched you, fearing the long absence of past and my frailty to recollect your visage from memory, I would have not hid under a veil of coarse scarf and shed a tear that rested upon my cheek, awaiting your tender kiss.

Had the war not called upon you, with its singular wrath, and misery, and destruction, to which you were to subject yourself, of which the consequence was merited solely to our chance meeting, you perhaps would have withered from my past that I had came to call my own.

Had I not been called upon, in discretion, by an alarmed and shaken boy of seven or younger, muttering a name under his breath, so abstract & known, awaring me the whereabouts of a soldier, of whom no one has had claimed or called upon, I would have not fleed my abode, barefoot, in the death of night, chasing a voice as it lead me to the Great Halls, as it lead me to you.

Had those halls, and halls after halls, reeked of a battle lost, delayed, decayed, exhausted me of a simpler wish, that to see you well and alive, to feel your throbbing heart against mine, to take you in my loving arms, perhaps for a last time, and assure you of a claim that I held upon you as mine, still, I would have not sought you oh ever so desperately.

Then you beseeched me, my name, a soft whisper breezed in, calling upon me as I rested you back, “how could we let bygones be bygones”, and I had not the strength to reply, for the moment I commit myself to another man in betrothal, my heart has swayed to you forever. And my thoughts taunted me. As I split in two’s and three’s. And the darkness converged around us, bearing the inevitability. Then you firmly stood behind me and kissed me as the ring burned into my finger. I had never seen you so, in your present disposition, as you stood by me, with the strength of unbounded proportions, a war hero, and then with all the will I could muster, I called your name, I called you mine. And the thunder roared, the foe witnessed all that was left of us, bare naked under the most calamitous regard.

Had I been not so wrought by the sheer joy of your presence in a fleeting dream, that upon wakefulness, i cleared a tear from my eye, too stirred to move, my heart would have had not writhed in your longing.

Had I more words to express, the entirety of my discourse that i so desire, an ode even so, would have done grave injustice to the mere memory, that I now choose to consign into folds of past.

Had the heavy clouds not set overhead, battling the red skies, threatening a storm so fierce, to wipe a lone civilization off, I would have not bid goodbye back, and nursed your tears as you laid plain kisses two.

Had our paths been one, as you solemnly bequeathed me to yourself, as your woman and you my man for me, amidst chaos of hearts and all that was, would have we perished aflame.

Most apprehensively did I wake, with a heart bursting to narrate the likes of my dream, to none but you. Had you the patience to bear with me, a moments time, spared for the sake of a distant past. Had you been not so quick as to resort to ill temper, and implored upon what I had to say, words that I ached to credit for you, would have not formed. This night would have been barren.

Had I not revealed this all, or partly, at break of dawn, to a curious ear lent, that I mistook as yours, “be gone”, so I went, I be’d, I would have not indite, sparingly enough tonight.