Haweswater. We were there. Couples. Lovers? Romantic only to the dreamer, sadistic, tortured, breaking up. Autumn leaves blow across the road, dust to dust, the lovers no longer. She was here once, now but a memory, the soul kicks out in anguish as another pang of disillusionment sears across the mind. She is gone, she is gone.
Why ride this storm? There is only disappointment in this tin can world. Life is short and so is peace. We hide from our fears like cowards in a church. There is nothing anymore! We take and we use. We suffer in silence with no-one to hear our cries. Forwards we glance, not daring to hope, not stopping to realize our disease. Once again we crawl to our place of solace until the glass is empty. The body hears us cry out once more, never ceasing to caress this poisonous medicine.
Here one day. Then a memory. Dust and ashes, the north wind strips the tears from my stony face. A hotel room with a view, a memory in the bar. Glance at another and the dream is gone. We hear ourselves crying inside yet we do nothing - yet. Time catches us unaware, then spits us out - her blue eyes fade from the mind, again.
Look at her face from your memory. See her in my mind! See this broken serpent, writing in unfulfilled promises. The lovers again are here, in this bitter and dark winter valley (but only ghosts now). The wind rips the spires from the tallest trees. We are gone now, blown to the four corners of this world of bittersweet and decaying dreams. WE ARE GONE.
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{K:41945} 6/21/2006
