Crystal Visions, Alight

 

~ Crystal Visions, Alight ~

 

 

A frigid blue,

That graces unseen kingdoms,

Where one, red-clad woman rests,

Languidly rocking in her armchair,

Long, slender calves curved,

Peeking out from beneath her satin robe,

Hair tied up in a meticulous bun,

Her smile a seductive promise of untrammeled vistas.

 

Her nails are a polished shine,

That gleam beside the flaming fire at the hearth,

But the blue frigidity of her cold eyes,

Tell a long ago forgotten tale,

Of some poor, yet untarnished still young lady,

Who perhaps did once,

Not envision the entire world to be,

A prism of material regale.

 

Saw only, a tiny rose-bud, with her soft smile,

Almost fragile as it curved upward,

Yet now, her delicate features are sharp and set,

A cold white gleam that shudders abreast,

Beneath the sky and its moon-

No longer seeing past the small, once beloved rose,

That would have provided her much more-

 

But she could not take it

And abused its lilting wonders . . .

 

Her hands now clenching and unclenching,

As she casts her head to the side gently,

While the moon digresses from its mold,

 Softly to seep kindly,

Down over her pale face . . .

As though it were offering her some fine extension,

Of what it has entrapped, for such a long time-

Well kept secret, as it were,

That no one has ever been able to access.

 

Yet the subtle wonder, freely given,

Attempting to fulfill the wishes of her wanton heart,

To comfort and to aid her unsettled severity,

Wept onto her skin itself, is freezing . . .

 

She now shivers, cruelly beside the warm fireplace, and dips her toes a bit further down-

 

Yet, her eyes are like steady glaciers, even still,

Which envision more than could ever be ascertained,

Yet, what she has lost, what she doesn’t even realize she is seeking,

bubbles afloat, sickeningly-

in the form of her blood-red nails,

hardened over, into a nothingness . . .

And her lips a petal,

 A bloodied and damaged rose symbolic,

That no longer is compared to a sweet flower,

The sap and food of her dreams long abandoned. . .

Now, are no more than-

Simply-made, crystal ice glaciers . . .

That see so much,

Save for the present.

 

Beauty of that rose, and other simple gifts of good tidings,

A pure, unadulterated newscast,

Of true loving, gone into an eternal land,

Which she is but blind to.

 

She is lost to that hum and to that old whine,

Lost the sounds that were tender and kind to her even when she was feigning,

A dignity that she could not ever truly own,

Songs, that ever could have fluttered incorrigibly, ’neath her breast,

Those slipshod, courageous little visions . . .

Gentle flippancies which she once wore,

That were sordid, base, and unseemly to her,

Unrefined and not becoming, so she said.

 

Thus as she matured,

And her fiery will became stronger,

She left them to nurse their own wounds forever.

 

But now, she’s lost those precious little dreams,

And pining-

Missing them more than she will ever know,

Even though they were but,

Pallid, ugly foes that were beneath her pride,

Obnoxious and distasteful as they clattered about,

Unrefined, so she said,

Forever- undignified.

 

Her blue eyes are the same hue from when she kissed that petal goodbye,

Told her childish whimsies they could be on their own,

Flee from her thrumming heart,

That picked out something better, from the fold,

And now she is only . . .

Sitting beside a fire that sparkles and wanes,

Beneath the eerie set-

Attuned rage of the sliced moon,

Which perhaps belongs to a force even greater than itself,

As it ripples across her stone porcelain,

Of a head that has turned itself away,

As she-

Lifts a finger smoothly to her red lips,

As though to kiss the cold away from her little finger-

And a dream that festered in her, uselessly, for a moment-

And then it died,

Away again, with the fire . . .

 

She stretches her pearly legs outward,

And pats them with eiderdown luxuries.