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Forsaken Me: A Montage
For miles, I traveled on gruesome
Obsidian gravel throughout
Parched Saharas, devoid of all
Color or cacti. The road’s as naked
As I: beaten down
Tattered white robes,
Bruised, emaciated, sickly
I forgot why I’m here.
Down shadowy corridors, minimal
Yellowish light is weak as his
Withering legs. He searches for her
Throughout oppressive and vast
Mansions, vacant rooms
In night-skies. Lampshades
Are fractured beyond repair. His grandmother
Owns these shady places. Dementia obscures
Her eyes and his…where is she…
He thinks that she died.
In absentia? He still looks.
This Messenger sprints to her man, she
In purple robes, mirthful lilac
Crystal tones, and gold-lined attire.
To castles she journeyed, enduring an odyssey.
Forever she dreams
Of her man; her trance genuflects.
Grandiose high doors,
Royal foyers agleam
With flaxen stars, ruby carpets that run
Elegant to the gem-studded throne—and alas!
Dreamy sovereign is slain, a dagger forged deep
In his chest, dictator abolished alongside
A young girl’s reveries.
So you see, I allowed them to nail me here,
Because I thought I understood—
Believed that there was something more
To my bleeding on splintering symbols
As soughing winds swept away leaves.
I died because there was heaven; in fact there is none.
The sun that I worshipped for years disappeared,
And I acquiesce.