A Journey Beyond Illusions
by Leah Chrestien
I feel the soft caresses of lean bony fingers--
the familiar touch of cadaverous hands;
soft, bloodless lips breathing into my ears--
whispers of fond dreams of faraway lands.
Outside the premises of my dingy home,
the unsettling winds, they bellow and blow,
beckoned into wee hours of the bitter night,
I follow the scarlet figure out in the snow.
Her silvery hair is disheveled in the wind,
her cavernous eyes look lifeless and cold;
trudging through the harsh sullen 'scape
I ponder upon what tonight will unfold.
Dark shadows follow, crooked forms arise
the trees are gnarly, their boughs are white,
buried in darkness save a faint moon's light,
a feeling of disquiet engulfs all in my sight.
The ice slates are perilous, the icicles keen,
chilling blasts of snow now cloud the scene,
the woeful world robbed of all things green,
speaking in whispers, what did she mean?
She promised me music of warbling birds,
a garden of posies and autumnal vineyards
the warmth of fire that crackles and burns,
songs, stories and ballads of ancient bards.
Yet, all that lies before is gloom and murk
and her hooded form--withered and gaunt,
a harbinger of fate from beyond this world
who at often times my dreams will haunt.
Dismissing my qualms, I follow in her steps--
unaware of fervent dreams I have unfurled,
having lost all gaiety that enlivens my soul,
praying she be the fix to my broken world.
the familiar touch of cadaverous hands;
soft, bloodless lips breathing into my ears--
whispers of fond dreams of faraway lands.
Outside the premises of my dingy home,
the unsettling winds, they bellow and blow,
beckoned into wee hours of the bitter night,
I follow the scarlet figure out in the snow.
Her silvery hair is disheveled in the wind,
her cavernous eyes look lifeless and cold;
trudging through the harsh sullen 'scape
I ponder upon what tonight will unfold.
Dark shadows follow, crooked forms arise
the trees are gnarly, their boughs are white,
buried in darkness save a faint moon's light,
a feeling of disquiet engulfs all in my sight.
The ice slates are perilous, the icicles keen,
chilling blasts of snow now cloud the scene,
the woeful world robbed of all things green,
speaking in whispers, what did she mean?
She promised me music of warbling birds,
a garden of posies and autumnal vineyards
the warmth of fire that crackles and burns,
songs, stories and ballads of ancient bards.
Yet, all that lies before is gloom and murk
and her hooded form--withered and gaunt,
a harbinger of fate from beyond this world
who at often times my dreams will haunt.
Dismissing my qualms, I follow in her steps--
unaware of fervent dreams I have unfurled,
having lost all gaiety that enlivens my soul,
praying she be the fix to my broken world.
Leah Chrestien is a data scientist by profession. She lives in Prague and writes poetry in her free time. Her poems have appeared multiple times in Our Daily Poem, Westward Quarterly, Leading Edge Magazine, and Spillwords. Her personal blog can be found at theecstaticstoryteller.com .