Obsessive devotion

The eyes of the northern star,

Faces, the unknown valley, perched under the silent mountains.

On misty nights, u could hear the lone calls.

Yes, they still pertain. They still drift out.

The stillness only disturbed by the faint whisper of an approaching gale.

The silent night, a purity to behold.

The moon in all its crescent glory, shined upon the dark waters.

The silent water, the giver of life, the perpetuated equity,

The balance of the harvest..

The leaves too, did their bidding.

They rustled ever so softly, ever so faint,

As if, they intentionally did not want to disturb the harmony.

Yes, the harmony. The night was ever so balanced.

The cold, the frost, the endless wind,

The nocturnal birds, the trees, the arriving fall.

The splendid patterns among the emptiest of faces.

The melancholic rhythms of the falling waters.

The song, of her lonely lips……

Hence was the night when I first met her.

On the valley of eternal stillness, there she was.

Standing, in the mist.

Singing a ballad of unspoken love and lost faith.

Clad in moonlight, wrapped in a veil of water,

Her face glowed like the reflected light emerging from the dew below.

I waited, as I could not move.

I could all but shift my gaze away.

The nocturnal birds all perched on her, as they listened to her serenade.

The moment, seemed like eternity.

Beyond death, beyond surreality, beyond suffering.

Beyond anything emotions could pertain,

Beyond, anything ever known to exist.

Disgraced was the word pleasure, during this moment of bliss.

Her eyes swallowed up every bit of the falling moonlight.

She gleamed like a thousand fires burning down the sun,

Her hair was a marinated brown, with a scent of a fallen jasmine upon a bed of pearls.

Her serenade lasted merely a few moments.

Echoing through the hills, it seemed to bring the gorge to life,

Light up the darkest of nights,

And bring salvation upon the dying.,

It seemed to wander and continue along the cycle of isolation,

Conjure life from the dead and decayed.

The winds roared, the creek babbled.

The waves, started to gather and rise.

The moonlight, overcast, silenced and confined by the clouding thunder!

Death, it seemed, was aware of rejuvenating life,

and wanted to end the process of renewal.

The waves lashed over her,

Silencing her song, killing the very breath of disillusioned hope,

The trees slashed, the rain, symbolic of hate, poured down upon me.

Then, she began to fade away.

As suttle, and slowly as she had come.

Her lullaby, disappearing into the very dimensions of silence,

That it had once emerged from,

Gave way to the only sound of bleeding rain.

I shouted, screamed through the night.

I tried but could not move, tried but failed to denounce.

I tried, yet fail to stop her from dissolving into the night.

I cried.

That was the last I saw of her.

I did, go back into the valley of frozen memories,

The valley, of haunting stillness.

But not ever, was I able to see the face I so longed for.

Now when I sit still, and look down upon the gorge,

Sometimes, right before morning rise, I hear her song.

Still as pure and gentle.

And they lock me back into that night.

Reminiscent of what I met for only a mere moment,

But fell so deeply in love with.