sacredtryst

It hangs on her like a fine web, discerned only when passing thoughts hit her, glaring sun glinting through the obscuring strands. A wet glimmer at the corner of her eyes. A pause in the certainty of her movements. Fingers curve so, just enough to dig into the rough skin of her palms. Marcetta is a woman who moves steadily beneath the weight, who plows onwards and forwards and into her sorrows like a cog churning in a machine-- but they are impossible to brush fully aside. The sound of something sharp gouging into and across wood. The taste of blood red ale. Someone fidgeting, screaming a lie with the tension at the corner of an eye.

She is cold wind and the crust on ashes left wet and dead. She is skin over bones, and breath in lungs, and indomitable will. She is a direction; that direction is forward, against any odds. She gave up on her gods, and listens only to the long-dead voices of her ancestors. Why must I live? Why can I not settle in my furs to sleep the long sleep? It is a question she often asks the burning sage branches, a longing she whispers to the wind that howls over her emptiness. Answers come in silence, in stillness, in half-formed dreams. All life is sacred. All life is holy. You must endure, until the fire of your life is extinguished by your

Today, today; such lazy shores today Melencholy waves break gently the sands And here I stand, alone; empty beaches stretch on. For do I not wait for you, on the banks of the Ishie River Where once you bade me come and wait? And though I stand, lost among the cresting tides I am alone; the thick waters are empty Without the memories we made on these serene shores. Your face is gone, no longer hidden in the river willows They mourn as me, fingers reaching to touch the glassy waters. Today, today; how beautiful the shores... How lovely the Ishie River.

Just another Endless Waltz of silent tears and fallen dreams/ Torn and broken; lost, unspoken/ Unwoven at the very seams/ Lost to reason; lost to nothing/ Lost to man an empty Space/ Ever falling from a spot of perfect love and perfect grace. Just another Solemn Dance of steps we took so long ago/ What once was giddy falls to sadness/ A face that I would dare not show. / Now I'm lost to vi'lent feelings/ Lost inside blue depthless eyes/ And sorrow bound my soul cries out in yearning yet unanswered cries. Just another Refrain Lost to instruments of shapeless men/ Marionette strings and empty dreams/ How cruel the game they now be