Distance like time passed tints everything with a warm rosy hue. Its all sunshine and rainbows and all of a sudden you’re perfect and all the darkness and tears before it are forgotten. I can no longer remember of there was more sun than cloud.
She’d lead you through briar, bush and thorn and leave you torn and battered but enraptured by her song. I’d seen her work enough times to admire her style and admiration was all it was. I played a different game, I sought the perfect kill, my terms, my locations, my call and I gave the impression that you had made it happen. It was perfect for a getaway, I’d leave them thinking it was all their doing. So we walked parallel paths and I’d been tempted one too many times to see if I could a weave thread with them but each time the strands withered. We’d dance, but to different tunes. I’d have her though, one day, it’s a long game and these nights have been devoid of a little fun.
I’d seen her around. One night it might be at the horse and four and another it would be down at Rick’s. She’d always walk in alone, dressed to kill but no patsy in sight. Prim and proper I’ll tell you but it’s always the nice girls that are the worst trouble. I was nurturing a hankering for her but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do anything about it. I was quite sure the likes of her would chew me up and spit me out quicker than you could lose a dime with the girls down in Precinct 12. I wouldn’t have minded though, she looked like it would be worth it. She hadn’t been long in town; she still spoke with that slow drawl of someone from cowboy country. I’d heard her tell a nosy barman that she was here searching for something, not quite sure what but she’d know when she found it. She told the self-same barman that her mam had been from that land of sombreros and shaking earth and had found herself an old hick who’d tied her down and broke her in, when he’d asked where she was from. Her tone made it abundantly clear that she herself would take some breaking. I could see it, there was a fire that smouldered in her eyes that said you burn once for playing, a second time if you crossed her and third time was the charm. Either way, you always burned. Ay, little slip of a dime but she was trouble. As all dames are. Maybe I’ll slink on by someday and introduce myself but for now I think I’ll nurse my drink and my sanity a little longer.
Tis the walk of dreams, dreams dreamt and best forgotten, dreams to be and dreams cherished, memories long forgotten and missed, nightmares haunting and shades of days future past. I remember a time not here or then, not quite real but real as I made it. Reality is perception rendered, time is what I make it but I cannot wake to shape it. I am falling and her name is long lost in the receding echoes.
I woke up from another dream in which you were everywhere I went. I shut myself away, I hid, I drowned myself in the deepest ocean and you were there. Always. Just standing there. And having found me, you’d walk away again and leave me wishing you wouldn’t.
I want to call you by every vile name I can think of but I can’t. I can’t because I remember that for a moment you made me happy and a little happiness is worth the anger..
its 3am and I can’t sleep. i’m haunted by the memories of when it was good. when the sight of you flipped my insides and I quivered at the simplest touch. when a gentle breeze would send your hair on a merry dance and sent me on a thousand day dreams and a whisper strengthened my resolve as I fought the days foes with achillean fervour. I am haunted, for this was all a memory washed clean of the stench of cowardice and the dressed up bleached bones of failure, of a dream that I lived in heart and soul but truth be told for when others fought for you, my Helen, I remained in Penelope’s unyielding embrace.
It was the visions that sent him forth;
haunted by dreams that left him in cold sweat
in the light of day it was but clear
to end the hauntings he must set out;
to find that which he sought
a creature he had not yet met
but which he saw nightly till dawn
he had to find
the beast with two backs.
They told him it was for nought
for the beast was legend and myth, roaming in lands forgotten and unknown
but he was resolute
he must search, to the end of his days if he must
for his life now held no meaning
beyond this one quest
for only having found it could a man he become
this was his Dokimasia Krypteia
The oracle he consulted
blurred images, whispered promises and thundered warnings
behind curtains and fragrant mysts
he would find the beast when he was good and ready
to beware its shifting forms and
watch for the blood moon
to be clear of purpose and hard of conviction
for the road was long and treacherous
deception and intrigue in a game he knew not
a pawn on the board of the game of life itself
Forewarned is forearmed
heavy of heart and mind he wandered from the mountain;
they had waited for him
his mother with fear
his father with pride
a brother he had lost to the Krypteia
but this was his son, the best of him.
Adorned in his father’s armor
and strengthened by a mother’s blessing
he set forth
to find that which he sought
The Beast With Two Backs
He put his trust in Apollo
for he knew not what he must do with the beast
to capture, to tame, to kill, or simply lay sight
A prayer to Hermes
for he knew not where the journey was to end
the paths to tread;
the road less traveled or to forge new path’s altogether
Zeus for his wisdom, but more for his guile
perhaps not his suit but his imagination which was unbound
and the fervent hope that he would not suffer Hera’s wrath.