Seasons ChangeThings have not changed too much out here on this rock overlooking the bay where I spent my life. Even the view has remain largely unmolested. The cart-worn road has evolved into two paved lanes on which cars speed along. The boats and ships look different and make more noise, but are not nearly as majestic and graceful looking as the ships of my day, sails full of wind. People seem to be in such a hurry now. For me, though, time passes slowly as I spend my days here, watching the seasons change, remembering.
Rob - how beautifully lyrical! I love what you did with the prompt. Remembrance...well done!
Love this one. I can see how this could come to be reality. Thoroughly enjoyed this.
He's been gone tweny years now, to the day. The store is doing well. We've expanded twice over those years, and we started a wholesale business. We built a new warehouse on a piece of land we bought set back from the harbor. We is Herb and I. Yeah, your good friend Herb. I knew you wouldn't mind. What else was a woman to do? We've also added three more kids to our two, but one of them died before he turned two.I know you're still out there somewhere; though I know you'll never come back. If you're still alive, I wish you well.
Really like this one. This is definitely the kind of things that would have run through the mind of one such lady during that era. Walking to the dead/departed wasn't thought unusual back then.It was also a kind of validation for the one left behind, to close the loop, so to speak.Good one, cafemoi.
I watch you sail awayCarrying my lifeLeaving me emptyLonging to be filledNothing remains but a brave smileOn the surface of the waterBeneath which I have vanishedAs so many times before
Nice poem, Veronica, though very sad. But then the image congers sadness, doesn't it? Nice.
City across the BayThe steamer will splash along soon, its smokestack coloring the air with grime. I’ll watch it until sunset touches my back and then I’ll return home. I know you wish to come home, my love. I have heard your night voice calling me, as I wander our home listening to your cries and your tears, always drawing me toward this point, to view the City across the Bay. So few can see the City now. It has claimed the dreamers who once lived here. Your dreams called you there. You would not heed my warnings about the siren song of that spired place with its pearlescent roofs. You heard only the promise of the melody that forever titillates the mind and heart; the sound which captures one’s soul and refuses to let it go.My youth was spent, watching those witch-lights flicker on the water, knowing you were there, living out of time, out of place. Our love could not chain you to me. My arms could not secure you here. My song was the weaker one.Soon the reaper will come for me, and I will know that for all time you will remember me and know what you could have had. You will know what the siren song has cost you as you exist in that City across the Bay. Do you see me here, now? Will you watch as I’m laid to rest? Will you regret the passage of time, or will you even notice its passage?I loved you first and always, my darling. Take solace in that knowledge. Remember me well.
Miss Eliza Keats,If I may be so forward, I must be able to impress upon you how enthralled I was by your encounter at the Havisham residence. I must find a word that speaks of a Lady who is ever so fair and delicate and bright. A most accomplished soul at the piano and song, do permit that my freedom has been lost, for every wakeful moment, I am ravished by the haunting melody that must have been performed by an angel.It is not the norm for me to yearn so. You have left me no option but to disclose my admiration for you, my love. I have known you now but 4 days yet I have experienced such a grand delight that would have taken me another 40 years of plain living to fill.My fancy cannot rest, sweet Eliza. It thirsts for you forever more. My spirit has been consumed by the unspoken promise and the forward invitation of your eyes.I compel you to answer my plea: meet me at the bluff tomorrow for I yearn for but an hour of your company. I fear that you fan the flames of my desire with the wish of tasting your sweet lips yielding immortal ambrosia.Please accept my invitation and pen your acceptance with the most tender words you know – and kiss them – so I have my chance at touching my lips to yours through a missive of love.Yours forever and always,Master Eamon Barringtonhttp://2voices1song.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/the-curious-case-of-master-eamon-barrington/