Monday, January 6, 2014

Tintagel

     So-with the start of the new year, comes the start of all the dreams I have for my writing and other schemes. I have signed up for two different writing challenges. One is "Start the Year Off Write Challenge." More details about this challenge can be found by following the link below.

"http://www.shannonabercrombie.com/my-blog/

     This one involves taking the writing prompts and challenges that are posted each day and applying them to your own projects. I decided to revisit a poem I have been toying with for years. It is a blend of fact and fiction, as all my writing is.

Tintagel

Her hair is wild, wind swept waves.
Trapped, she no longer leaves this bed.

I sit and wonder what to say,
Words float between us, scurrying away.

A stranger to her self, as she is to me.
Eyes roam round the room,
What exactly does she see?

I see her standing on the edge of the rocks.
We peered down at the frothy shore.
The setting for the tales she told of pirates and their gold.

Tintagel. Mystery and majesty all in one word.
Barely a whisper on her lips, as I recall the fortress ruins.

Her loneliness crushes us as she shivers and weeps,
mumbling to all that have disappeared and left her waiting.

She is the only, lonely keeper of her memories.
No one left to recall the small girl trudging off to school,
hair pulled in tight pigtails, no one remembers the blushing bride.

I long to tell her, I will remember all the stories she told,
they are more precious to me than cities of gold.

I long to say it's okay for her to leave me here, there is nothing left to fear.
Family, friends, and a loving God eagerly await her, calling her near.

Suddenly there is a riot of bells and buzzers, crying in alarm.
Nurses rush in checking the monitors' beacons, grasping at her slender arm.

The notebook I have feverishly been writing in drops to the floor.
As I think of rushing for the door, my pen slips from my grasp.

It rolls along, resting against a wheel of the bed, a momentary haven
before it is crushed as the defibrillator wheels from the room.
Truth; my tears are not sadness. She will not be back, she is truly free.





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