lost in a fog of emotions

fighting for clarity.

Melancholy hanging,

our interest waning,

we’re observing -

dancing,

intoxicated by

our own thoughts;

a rhythm,

echoing deep within.

We write these words

as salvation, a spell.

Tethering ourselves

to the world:

To this life and the next;

these cries echo

haunting these halls

until the end;

I am still here -

here, imprinted.

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he’d betrayed her.

How easily he forgot

the sacrifices she’d made;

How her magic helped

him retrieve the Golden Fleece.

Jason and Medea, two names

no longer tied together;

Alone she stood -

her heart stinging,

her mind filling with

the words revenge,

poisoning her reality;

“Revenge”, she whispered;

from the premonitions.

Wandering in disorientation,

from these warnings,

visions of blood

on the mossy path.

Blood trickling down slowly

the dark and narrow path.

What is down there?

A feeling of dread -

to the same path.

We’re two ships passing

each other in the night,

waiting for a calling to unite us;

Our paths never crossing,

our thoughts whispering

to each other in our dreams;

when the trees started whispering.

Words of wisdom? Warnings?

Their whispers travelling,

like an enchanted spell -

Transporting us through time;

Giving us premonitions

of mossy rocks and paths,

darkness surrounding us,

“You know” shrieking in our ears. 1

of expectations;

Sink or Swim.

Don’t drown

in the expectations

of others:

Step by step,

build those blocks,

mastery takes times.

I promise to imprint

your mind

with memories and truths,

before fragments of these

dissolve into the sea;

to your destination

is the fastest way to kill your dreams;

Cutting corners

leaves you open

to vulnerability.

There are no shortcuts to

the desires of your heart.

forgive but don’t forget.

Warning us to pay attention.

Noticing, collecting

patterns of behaviour.

Remember what they say,

forgive but don’t forget.

consume us all,

draining our energy;

It forces us to switch

between two truths,

our writing rituals protect us,

banish confusion to another land -

up these invisible barriers go.

Boundaries - our layer of protection.

we radiated at the same frequency.

Holding on tightly

to the threads that bound us

together;

The threads unraveled,

and here we are - again,

bare.

bloomed flowers swaying to and fro

moving in harmony to the

sounds of the season -

reminding us of change.

Spring, greeting us - once again;

Moving us in sync

with its daily rhythms;

with sweet melodies;

Lullabies whispered into the night

like enchanting spells;

Lunar spells illuminating secrets

into the silence of the night -

Cast a spell on me,

lull me back to sleep

and into the land of dreams.

in a field of thorns;

Redemption, so far away,

stretching into the other side,

with echoes of your screams

travelling across time,

haunting souls in their dreams;

Your screams echo -

redemption. 1

into the land of comfort1

Stillness after a day of chaos

chasing never ending threads,

loose threads hanging on,

causing chaos.

Into the land of comfort we go,

washing away a day of chaos.

using my soul starring stare,

imprinting space in your cortex;

Do you remember now?

Will you seal memories of me

into a vault -

your heart;

The primary colours

for the foundations

of our intentions.

Building on one block at a time;

Back to basics we go -

restarting, refreshing,

resetting, on this night.

Cleansing, letting go, trust to

let your intentions come alive;

A few days earlier, Friday, I noticed that I had not visited the tailors to see if adjustments to my burgundy dress had been made. I asked the Smith, “Could you arrange for the carriage to take me to the tailors. I have some business I must attend to.” “Certainly Ma’am, would you like anything else?” I looked up and noticed him looking at me inquisitively, I noticed how grey his beard had become. Had it always been that grey? I noticed him looking at me so I quickly responded, “No, thank you Smith. Just the carriage.”

The carriage took me to Bloomsbury Street. It was busier than usual. Ladies were gathered around, it was the season after all. The Fitzgeralds were hosting their annual Spring ball over the weekend. So all the young ladies were making the final touches to their dresses. The Fitzgerald’s ball was the most talked about ball of the season. The grand flower displays, the cake trays, the dances. Everyone was always very excited about the ball of the season. To me it was just routine at this point. Nothing interesting.

I could feel myself getting more anxious as the hours passed by. I decided to move my anxiety to one side, that was a mistake. It was gnawing at me. It was there to warn me. I must have know deep down that something was wrong. My stomach was in knots all day. There I was at the tailors trying on the dress we both picked the last time we saw one another. I felt the silk on my skin as I tried it on.

To be continued.