A whirlwind, a storm… a white storm possibly.
A rush of emotion, of laughter uncontrollable. Of smiles.
Contentement, wonder and discovery,
each day dawned bright and new.
The dark veil of sadness, a cloak over the world
cowered in the corner of oblivion.
Unable to compete with the sudden onslaught
an avalanche of goodness and, yes, of love.
This heavy cloak, invisible yet tangible,
weighed down on all my thoughts, all my deeds.
A heavy impermeable mist, thick and oozing
all in its reach on them it would feed
Swept aside it was,
swirling and angry.
Indignant and presumptuous
at losing its realm to thee.
And I was happy.
Short-lived this whirlwind, this white storm was.
years of disappointment, of loneliness
rushed back to claim their prey
their mark indelible, a black stain.
Forever haunted I shall be
Forever imposed on by this cloak
Forever to be my unwanted flag bearer
Forever shall loneliness be a part of me.
So it would seem.
During that whirlwind of a storm, white and pure of form
all seemed possible, all seemed bright and colourful
the world was new, the world was pristine and it was clean
The world was perfect, as perfect a perfection could ever be.
True perfection is not synthetic, unblemished nor spotless
Such would only be a sterile replica
Inhuman, desensitised and heartless
Smooth and spotless without, corrupt and dark within.
No, oh no.
True perfection has its cracks, its faults
And many failings also.
Perfection is when good prevails
Its weaknesses are recognised, understood and accepted.
True perfection is a compromise, a synchronisation,
better still, a symbiosis that happens naturally and freely.
Such was the perfection, true and natural
I thought we had
or so I thought.
Blinded by the white storm of true perfection
strolling along through days, weeks and months
with nigh a thought of that dark cloak
oblivious of the schisms that were growing
Errors were made
things were said
my reaction betrayed
a dark corner in my head.
And thus the dark cloak plotted its resurrection.
A love was lost if love was there at all
A blossoming and beautiful companionship
was no longer, irretrievable and unrepairable
the white storm, the avalanche, turned black.
A love just budding was nipped in its infancy
brushed aside and discarded
before the roots could gain any purchase
before its time it was doomed and branded.
And now that cloak, heavier than ever
ties me down, impossible to weather
the storm it whips, turbulent and violent
throws memories back at me
a smiling face – could that be me
a moment of a soft tender caress
her beautiful face, smiling
Swirling images so soft, so beautiful
a filmstrip of memories
mocking and jeering
wrapped around my heart
and tightens, and tightens
a passionate heart mocked
crumbling at the touch
a dry brittle leaf
in an Autumn gust