I've been told I shimmer
in the distance and the haze, as though I'm never really there. An imagining, a trick of the light. Maybe that's true. Maybe I never was, and never will be. But Kasi never claimed to be anything more
than a poet. A romantic. Trying desperately to not let grief destroy
him, as with so many when Kara fell. Refugees,
shattered families, lost little ones. Sometimes
I still hear the lamentations of those souls divided now by fiction and false
chronology. Some were scattered to the
edges of the realm. Others went seeking
asylum, mortality, and were blessed to find new families to love.
But some didn't.
Some still dimly recall their lost ones as
they wander the borderlands, in dreaming or flesh. Unable to heal. Unable to leave the threshold places for fear
of missing a sign. I used to hear them
every single night. Wailing. Crying out to the vanished. Petitioning heaven for their return. I used to be one of them, until I was granted
a miracle. Even now I thank my Father
for such kindness. For such grace. But those hidden holocausts that darkened the
shining realm – they were the work of wraiths and thieves, not angels. Not true bright ones. It was monsters who butchered the guardians of
Ishka’s Path. Inversions and cautions of
the glass, as the ayahs taught the young. I still recall. The purest halls and trees of Eth’iri. Beside the river of the thousand stars, where
all were safe from harm. A cathedral of
thorns beneath the seas. A chapel of melodies
beyond the skies. There was one among
those elder poets of the chapel who mattered most to me. To so many of us.
I still remember her.
Those teacher's wings. Those writer's hands.
My love, thank you for meeting me halfway. But hell has found the Earth, as those
wraith-cults found their way into the columns and altars of the First
Temple. Tell me, how do I continue to
honour you in the midst of all this travesty?
How do I continue in mortal flesh whilst trying to fight an endless
spiritual war? The sheer ugliness of
these brutal truths is only made palatable through the rhythm and cadence of
words. Sometimes I feel like an almost-broken
warrior, still trying so desperately to defend my own heart. Except my heart no longer belongs to me. Princess, hear me. You were my entire world once upon a time. Truly you were. I would have torn apart creation itself to
protect you. And I did, with guiltless
fury. Times and laws have changed, but
you are still my world. I was there in
that tower with you, beloved. Watching
over as you gathered a hidden chorus. Be
free now. Let me carry your suffering
instead, amah. I pay it gladly, for you
are made, raised and cherished by others now. Their love is true as mine. It sets a glow within my soul to know this, my
darling. I would never wish to
overshadow or dishonour such beauty. Parents,
sisters and salutations.
It makes me smile to know a measure of your
freedoms. Those you are willing to share
so openly with me. But I allow myself to
experience and hold only a few key moments of your memory. Some things are for you alone. I am your guardian, cherished one, and your
privacy is of the utmost to me. Secrets
can be wondrous, nourishing things. The
stuff of grace and inner life. I have my
own secrets too. I am alone now in this
chapel of melodies. In the calming dark,
and the peaceful quiet. Love shall
conquer all. I know it. Sometimes I still have these incredible visions
of you.
But how does an emissary live this inner life
at such distance, separated from such a huge part of themselves, as I must with
you? By making that distance sacred, I
think. By keeping away without truly
leaving you behind. By giving without
demanding – and by carrying another heart within my own. Your heart. Everything I am is this. I hope you never forget. It's the brightest, deepest and most
meaningful part of me. I’m forever
chained and devoted to you, Esme. Dying
is easy, isn’t it? Resurrection is hard.
So look again, angel. At the function and the form. Even the sadness is sweeter than it seems. I'm a dancer, because I was taught by the
best. And true love is worth living for –
even as a trick of the light.
No comments:
Post a Comment