A single candle dimly lights the dark room
Sending warriors of light forth to battle the shadows
The epic war splashes upon the moss-covered walls
The candle flickers sending reinforcements forth.
The warriors have won the battlefield upon which the candle stands
A burnished mahogany desk, with legs carved to resemble foliage
The desk was deeply scarred, it has seen many campaigns
Between man and pen
Dark black ink stains litter the veteran desk
I sit with my paper laid in front of me and pen in hand,
To start this letter to you
A letter that is long overdue
My hands tremor and shake,
My words seem to have fled my mind
It unlocks the chest which holds my heart,
Memories of you springing free to flood my every thought.
Uninhibited and unbidden they swarm, glimpses of happiness in rapid succession
One burns brighter than the rest
Brighter than the purest white light
Spreading warm happiness like heat from a fire,
through my body.
The memory is of when time was young,
When life seemed impossibly easy
And love was what we lived on,
Feeding on it, drinking it, the feeling akin to inebriation
Blissful drunken stupor, that made the world seem,
Brighter, beautiful, and bewildering.
Sitting upon the mountain, our feet dangling over the side
The city below us, its cacophony of sound lost upon us,
Its disturbances cannot reach our height.
The warmth of your hand pressed into mine,
quickens my heart.
Far out beyond the city is the sea, with water bluer than the skies
Beyond that is the blood red sun, dipping lower beneath the horizon,
to settle in its bed giving rise to the stars that twinkle into existence
I look at you next to me, the last rays of the red sun,
gild your golden tresses as they raise with the breeze.
Your smile seems to shine brighter than the dying sun.
Happiness surrounds us like a protective comforter.
My heart beats like an African war drum, hammering in my chest
We lean towards each other
Our eyes fixed in a stare that conveys great feeling.
Like a viper, my heart strikes to draw the memory back
Grabbing it as it struggles and tries to escape
The struggle is short lived and the memory is locked away.
Tears of shame streak down my face to stain and blotch my writing
I have written countless letters to you
But I have not the courage to send them
I cry, unashamed now, as I take the letter
Pull open the draw in the desk
and place it neatly with the others