the top of the stairs: march

Chapter 3 of An owl on the moon...

     Moment passes into moment, and day into day, though the angel has vanished.  Daniel Wirth, my one true friend since our childhood, walks into Idler Inn. We stand and listen to thunder as heard by the ancients of Rimmon.

 

Deep blackness waits outside;

a veiled inferno it attempts to hide.

We see no more than dark clouds growing,

but set inside, a fire is glowing. 

 

     His eyes stroke the raging clouds.  I speak. “Daniel, do you fear the flame?”

     The chill is almost fragrant as the wind gropes past us.  Waves now scream and screech as they throb against the soft sand.

     “To fear transparent fire...To fear the world illuminated.  How can one fear the light?  A solitary pillar of radiance that strips the face of shadow.  Afraid?  Most fear the deeper darkness when that light has passed.”  Daniel stops and breathes deeply.  Crystal pearls now flee the sky in torrents, and the dark clouds swirl and scrape the earth.

     Daniel hesitates, then speaks.  “We cringe and cower at what the light illumines.”

     “And what do you see in the light, Daniel?”

     He turns from the window to speak.

     “An empty hollow... A child’s place to gather and hide, but never share.”

     “You admit such shame so openly but it’s my soul you unmask.  A darkness where no light can penetrate or escape.  Where no candle-flame exists.  A hollow place so deep the world could not contain it.”  I cough and sputter. “And my greatest fear is not death but oblivion in the eyes of those around me, going through life without notice, concealed within the darkness and isolation of that hollow place.”

     Daniel speaks.  “I have only pity for you.  Pity for the one who knows the coffined canvass  they’re on, but has not the vision or will to escape. Don’t bow to the blinded spirit of Icharus, and don’t cling to your chains as if they somehow form your freedom. Listen for the Voice of your redemption.” He walks past me into the shrieking and screeching of the storm, then turns toward me to shout.  “Look at your reflection when the lightning blazes and tell me what you see!”  A heavy curtain of colorless rain suddenly veils his darking form from my sight.

     At midnight there is a storm of silence.  The rain has ceased and a dark, cold mist hangs over the sea and shore.  I turn from the windows and gaze at black bars sloping east and west encompassing the stairway to the top of the stairs.  A ruby drape drifts steadily down each curve and crevasse.  The sting and stroke of ice, dark and heavy, rests on each pillar of iron.  Wooden stairs seem ever ascending and descending; ancient elders of endless moments.

     The light flickers like a candle on the last step as shadows illuminate the musty hall.  My footsteps echo the pounding waves; my pounding chest.

     A dark oak door slowly swings open to reveal the narrow, wooden staircase to the roof. A switch softly lights a single lamp.  Musty, stagnant air mingles with the salty wind as I step silently onto the shingled ceiling of the Idler Inn.

     As the darkness trembles and quakes around me, I recall my yesterdays, dim and marred. The light of the amber orb now pierces the shadowed, cloudy cover of earth, and on its face I view my own.

 

The chilled wind with frozen voice,

lifts saddened scents of drifted days.

Upon each breath a doubting choice,

the winded, weeping figure lays.

And how was I to know that day,

would alter every moment on?

And how was I to hope to stay,

when friends in movement now are gone?

Yet here I stand with grasping eyes,

and view my common, ever-soil.

Born here in sand and raised in lies,

appearing tranquil, royal grace.

 

     I rest on the Idler’s rooftop, engulfed in flooding memories.  I close my eyes...

 

     Brilliant colored petals drape the lifting limbs as life resurrects the dawn of day. The wind is music and in it I dance, a child of distant dreams. My younger eyes grasp life from all textures and hues, and I am here unaware of horror; the horror of wasted days.

     In mere moments I age as the sun drives upward, and as its light grows so does my discontent. How the pain plagues my wearied soul.

 

Strong hands, yet a weaker heart;

callused eyes with colorless vision.

How each dusted fragment

settles upon my aging view.

 

     A groping cloud swallows sun and sky, as dark limbs lumber over the ebbing terrain. Ahead rises a secluded mansion, bright and beautiful, with pale pillars of ivory. These pillars are marbled, white fire, reaching above the misting sky, and laced with glimmering gold. The scent of orchid-tinged air breaths around me.

     The doors, huge myrtled soldiers etched in parable fabric, open to welcome me, and I step through this passage like Janus. A flowered fabric covered with crescents lines the entry and the spiral stairs which rise beyond my view. Plushed couches of maroon and deep rose welcome my weariness to rest as I pass through each hallway. Above me hover golden-candled chandeliers, with flames engorging the darkness.

     The fragrance of a feast fills the passage. I now can see the table alight with a profusion of woven breads, lush fruits, and roasted meats of all kinds. Deep forest, camel, and rose patterns dance on the warm walls. In the corner of the room above a white marbled mantle, painted in hushed tones, hangs a gold-trimmed image of Sarah. Her elegant white-laced dress whispers beauty, as her black hair adorns her lily face. A subtle smile embraces her cheeks.  Even the flames’ fervor, burning beneath her portrait, seems feeble in contrast to the incandescence of her eyes.

     In ashen silence Sarah appears through a passageway dressed in draped ivory.  The room seems to unravel and swell as her smiling eyes draw me to her side, and we begin to swing and sway upon a frosted marble floor.  As she clings to my hand and searches my eyes all that is around me wanes and withers from sight.  In her olive eyes I uncover a world of wonderment, and her strength and song rise within my wavering heart.  For one momentary interlude it seems there is no world but ours, and then with the sound of a piercing shriek Sarah flees down a stained and sable corridor.

     I feel a slithering chill wind as I pass from this banquet room into the hallway beyond where Sarah’s image departed.  The walls grow dark and deep, laced with webs and frosted winter. I taste dust in my mouth and smell the musty odor of grappling age as I ceaselessly shift through the parable passageways.

     This narrowing passage leads to a ballroom half undone, with walls open to the wind. The slopes and slants are draped by bats and spindly birds, stirring up a misty cloud of smoke. I hear the haunting chimes of cancering hopes, and feel this darkness drip and skuttle across my fears.

     How this emptiness engulfs the grandeur of my former vision, and rapes this night of aspiration. As a somber silence rises, these vaulted beams bound and bend, collapsing into a final shriek of dust and ashes.  And through the unsettled ashen haze I glimpse the fire of her olive gaze, and hear her sweet and somber voice say, “How you are yet undone.”  All sound is now silence.

    

     I open my eyes...

     I retreat down the narrow stairs and pass into the brisk breath of this morning air. Outside the sky is filled with rhythmic clouds, pulsing like frantic phantoms.

 

I walk the sand alone,

and feel it stirring as I roam,

upon this breathing earth,

where wave on wave begins new birth.

I sense a grand facade,

where colors paint the hand of God.

And in remorseful pain,

I dance the stones of bitter strain.

 

     As I walk, my soul is undone by the recollection of the waves and the dark mansion of my mind. Its nebulous prophecy cries out above the waves on this desolate morning: “How you are yet undone!”  I walk on alone.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Pax]

My friend….you’ve describe darkness in such beauty that its beyond my reach… this chapter leaves me in such deep thoughts about darkness…

Sarah keeps getting more mysterious as if she the ghost of the past you’ve kept in your thoughts forever walking in your darkness…

Another painted canvas of much darker tone…
I have to quote this wonderful black Pearl:
“A darkness where no light can penetrate or escape. Where no candle-flame exists. “A hollow place so deep the world could not contain it.” I cough and sputter. “And my greatest fear is not death but oblivion in the eyes of those around me, going through life without notice, concealed within the darkness and isolation of that hollow place.”
~ a very deep depression, barricaded with isolation and darkness… you’ve created a darkness that is so vast that no one can contain it but only you… I’ve talk about this in my short poem darkness creeps: “Darkness creeps in the far corners of our mind, Waiting, Waiting for its turn to come out. If a pure soul is tainted with blood Or even just a splash of it, Darkness grows Then it’s hard for a soul to contain it.” Now I wonder how this darkness grows inside of you…what’s the real reason behind the darkness… maybe a sad fate or death of a love one or abuse of any kind… well I will never know if I don’t proceed….

My friend, I’m totally hooked… it keeps me want to read more about the depths of this writes… there is too much life and emotions dripping….
Another awesome chapter that leaves us in awe….
Brilliant!!!!!!!!!!!

[An owl on the moon]

My good friend! How you pull out the threads so darkly woven here. Yes... some pain can only be voiced in poetry... it somehow breathes a peace into the shadows... I do appreciate your thoughts shared, as well your time to read... Your reflections are a treasure. Thank you... with all my heart I thank you.

[Jenny Nelson]

Love the description and possibilities of light and darkness in the first half.
"How you are yet undone." Gives one much to think about, that phrase does.

[Tracie Skarbo]

Such wonderful imagery in your word choice. Your voice dances about the page and glides with such deep undertones of meaning. It is no wonder that this has been published. I want this in my personal library!! So I can feel it tangible between my hands. You weave mystery amungst the darkness and make me want to weep for the main character. I know that this is something I would want to read again and again.