Baptism of Banishment

A girl. A writing desk. A pen. Also a sheet of paper amongst many others. A pale sun drowning deep and fast on the horizon. Broken pencil ends dancing on the dusty surface. She has tried many times to write for her own happiness. Only her own. No flared up ambitions here. But the will does not necessarily suffice for a paucity of emotions. What does the paper have to say to her?

You become a night.

Simmering down.

Parched and pleading.

Stitched with the glint of stars.

Your eyes light up,

To the commotion within.

The deserted dream has beckoned you,

From the same old stars.

You sought the dream,

And breathed the flame.

Rummaged the past,

An incomplete lane.

That the dream was I,

You denied to know.

Furrowed your insouciance,

In knitted gelid brows.

And the pen you clasped,

Did pine for me.

Smothered in your silent sway,

Poured itself to let it be.

Solace I had wished for,

Did I welcome the bruise?

You discover me lying and fluttering,

Trembling in forsaken hope,

Crinkled and callused.

When the strands of thought,

Are smeared with blood and rain,

I awaken to the melody,

Of an impatient bane.

Then I am your redeemer.

Though not for long.

Mirth sails for your shores,

But it does not belong.

I watched the hewed desperation,

Floating all over me,

Sodden and seduced.

Freed seemed your shackled breath.

Startled and amused.

A hoary past sought you out.

And I did not care to see.

As you orphaned me in the tumult.

Crumpled and abused.