dark-room-light-through-window My eyes shift inconsolably; peering softly downwards. My fingers resting upon a coil of rope that dangles from above. My lips gracing the words I speak with a nervous touch. My voice hinted by a lifeless flutter of words that bore themselves wholly upon my symbol of woe. “I had quite a day at the market my love.” I sputter wearily. Silence replied. The beautifully antiquated table, unmoved by my words, spoke in reply with its usual stillness. I am in my seat alone. The room is dark. A dagger of moonshine cuts through a lone dusty window and casts itself faintly upon my malnourished and hollow form. Why did she never respond to my daily accounts? I wonder so aimlessly it seems. Did she care? Did she ever fancy my recollections and dreams? Does my heart break alone? I know that it does! I pray in my solitude that perhaps it does not. Although, if I were ever so delightfully embellished and perfectly oiled, would I hear someone of such lowly a caliber? I know I would not! My eyes swim in solemn eagerness over the intricate weaving’s of flowers and flame, intertwined in loving faces; their purity and grace frozen in a bloody mahogany. Irises were her favorite. My eyes must be glistening as I long for my sweet. “Oh darling!” I cry, “Oh please my darling, why do you shudder me off! How my love destroys me, I know!” The warmth of my own tears slide roughly down the squareness of my unkempt face, slowing for only a moment before soaking into the tangled nature of my ragged beard. My worn and calloused palms soaking in my own misery. I beseech the final remnants of the only love I have ever known. I lean forward in my seat, peering downward on my four legged charm. “You haven’t left me?” I question in caution. Knowing the truth may beckon my death. “You’re here with me aren’t you my love? My momentum, my inertia, my heart, my Aphrodite!” I whisper so sweetly as though my own babe were at rest. I stretch my arm and lean inwards gently; caressing the shrine of my Goddess and lover. My fingers feel the fire and swirling flames etched like a soft stone in the graceful being that stands before me. “You know what I have seen?” I utter in question. My tone hushed, nearly unheard, as though I am murmuring a devilish curse. I purse my lips together. They are wet with a lonesome hunger. I kiss my shattered heart. The wetness of my lips and the steam of my breath a fleeting ghost on the polished surface. “Please come back to me my darling! Oh Darling…” I plead and I beg. My eyes well in suffering. Oh how immense is this torture and pain! “Please.” I echo; the word sinks into the shadows of the room. “Why do you not speak?” I mutter pitifully. She said nothing to me; unlike the din of my memories screams. I stand up from my seat and gently, so gently, climb upon my darling. I think of nothing good.  My insides clench as though a hangman's noose has seized hold of my very core. My heart wrenches from my being. In its place the remains of a barren crater of paradise lost to a pitiless God. I can bear this burden no more. Indeed I know what has to be done. Hot tears form again as they had so often since my lover was ripped from my very soul! I can see the blaze again; forming in my muddled thoughts. It grows brighter and brighter, swallowing my vision and shunning the world around me from my very eyes. My mind fades back to those many years ago. Oh what a terrible blaze indeed! I can see it now. I will remember that day as sure as my lungs to breath. Though it was so strange, that horrible day, for church was the same, the people were the same, and the sun cast its warm glow as brilliantly as ever. Perhaps it was the variety of evergreens that cupped our simple little home in grassy palms that seemed just minutely darker that day. Or was there some other ominous quality I had failed to notice? Had it been my thoughts and the tricks they may play? I do not know. My lips press together in fore of these words, “Only in eternity can I truly forget!” I stand weakly, my knees shaking as I wearily grasp the drooping rope taut around the beams above. I pause, for just a moment, my recollection is so clear. My visions of that day appear so lucid as I drape a thick rope, my eternal salvation, tightly around my sinewy neck. I can see now. I remember my darling was in her usual state of botanical perfection that day. Oh how without flaw were the arrangements of roses and tulips and sunflowers and daffodils. The fluorescence of the manicured blossoms played heartily with fairies of dust and bathed so regally in swathes of sunlight. The crimson roses of tulips as soft as pampered flesh. The delicate neck of the tulips, a bowing foundation of the bloody thimble perched fast to each peak; curved ever so humbly yet stately in manor. As though the richest of men begged alms from the gods. The giant sunflowers gently smiled and guarded the showy daffodils that gleamed with their musical crowns; their notched petals like silken waves dashed on a shore. Yet, in all of my heaven and of all the fanciful stars that speckled and flourished alongside my slumbering home, haven and sanctuary, it was the iris’ that commanded my unworthy appraisal. Like angelic dancers in a flirtatious ballet the three petals of each flower glided and waved with the tender trio of drooping sepals in full acquiescence. How regal was the purple of the petals; as though they were snippets of the robes of royalty, and the leaves the faithful swords of knights dutifully guarding the apex of each stock. I waved across the knoll to my wandering sweetheart. “Hello darling!” I beamed with just a hint of curiosity layering my words. “What’s your pick of the day?” My lungs could have collapsed at the mere sight of her curving silhouette, let alone her raw image. She glanced from her choice distraction to gaze upon my unsuitable self. “Hmm” her voice questioned; the tone so sweet to my listening palette. “Would a daffodil be appropriate for a man who has not finished my table?” She stood from her hunched position, tossing her rich chocolate painted hair aside from her face, the curling waves of each strand no doubt a merit of Rapunzel’s envy. “Of course dear!” I spoke heartily, laughing merrily as our eyes met. Her cherry lips parted to reveal a tender and gentle smile. She tilted her head shyly to the side, locks of hair fell across her face and became lit with an amber glow as they toyed with the sunlight held captive in their sheen. (STORY IS NOT FINISHED... TO BE CONTINUED)

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Michael Anderson
My name is Michael Anderson and I am the owner of this website for posting and sharing stories and articles. I also have a drop shipping company that I own. I am a very independent and goal oriented person. I hope anyone who is interested in submitting a story or poem sends me their work so I can post it up on this website. You can read more about how this works and how I pay you to post up work here. Not only is using this blog a great way to get recognized for your work, it is also a excellent way to turn your poetry, stories or articles in to a profit! I started this blog in hopes that I could help people get their articles, poems and stories out there for the world to read.

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