The Diary Letter to Beatrice
(A lone voice whispers, as the right hand, takes careful notes)
In the deepest of silence
I always walk
Deep in thoughts, into my own created Maelstrom of Defiance
As memories of you appear slowly, like a wild moorland winter fog
Which slithers, rolls and returns
With a soft hint of a time that was truly priceless
Announced with a slight shiver, running down my spine, that burns
As the air magically fills with that so familiar pulsating scent, of Chanel N°5
That makes me wilt and pine, as all my sharpened senses, quickly come alive
An imagination mind trick, that if I told any doctor
They would put me straight into, any asylum, with this wrap up line
"Old man, isn't it time you dropped her?"
It's usually then, that feel your presence and visually embrace
In my mind's cathedral of memories, all those lingering thoughts and images
Whispering like feverish crows
About everywhere, we once went
Before our descent, from the pinnacle of grace, as we got old
Especially whenever I look in our old silver mirror, and start feeling cold
When I still see reflected, your dark eyes, looking back at me
Which carries a hint of your sweet snarl, encased within a smile. I once used to call, heaven sent.
But when those loving sensations slowly fade
And life winds once more, blows my way
And the mind fog, stops rolling in from my mind's, Highlands
Returning me to Reality Island
Just know, my twin flame in my Eternal White Room
I still carry you and your beautiful name, to the tomb
Deep inside, wherever I go
For your husky voice always rides and rules my internal highways, whenever I smell that so loved perfume
Like a reborn Gail
In a New Sin City
Called The Hippocampus
A place I call too, like George Kelby Jr.
Who once went to Cross Creek trying to find forgiveness
When Doubt calls and bills me
Whenever I try to remember
Why even after all these years, I still feel so guilty
About there no longer being, a living tale about us
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
