Curious about Grace

About this: Is this a poem? I dunno, I’m putting it here anyway. This piece is supposed to have some additional formatting that couldn’t just cut’n’paste over, I’ll get round to it later. There’s another prize on offer if you can guess who Grace is.

Curious about Grace

Just when it first happened I cannot say, neither can I recall how but I remember who it was. Her name was Elizabeth and she lives in my memory through the vivid flame of her hair. Being young and untutored in worldly ways, I found myself perturbed and bewildered at those feelings that surfaced whenever I caught sight of her. I kept them well hidden though, for I knew they could be used as a weapon against me and I was vulnerable enough in my tender youth. Alas, I never expressed that emotion to Liz and she disappeared from my life forever. Since that day I’ve lied on occasion to women and myself, in the hope that I might rediscover that emotion but those efforts bore no fruit other than the bitter tang of disappointment and regret. Only once did I feel something akin to that which I experienced in my youth. I didn’t know her name but she called herself Annabel and she lived on the screen. What a strange world that she should be the font of so much joy and of so many of my tears.

The un-tempered sun burns in the sky, never moving in a land of unceasing daylight. As I turn about I see my footsteps fading in the sand. I recall my thoughts when I started this journey across this desert and I laugh, the man who died on the way was better, braver but he was a fool and fools deserve such a fate as he. It’s cruel to laugh at fools but cruelty is the burden of the desert, the lesson whispered in the sands. I took up the rote taught by many sage and oracle and set my voice to its metre. Thirst beckons, she demands a tribute paid in leather from the sole — of a shoe, footsteps in the sand — as I turn about.

~ by deadspidereye on November 8, 2013.

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