Poetry
An Evening’s Whimsy in the Serpentine Mist
Wandering the city at dusk
It was in the twilight’s ephemeral grasp,
the pallor of dusk drawn over the city’s
labyrinthine veins. I found myself
wandering, feet tracing cobblestone
whispers. The air, thick with the scent
of rain and echoes of yesteryears,
clung to my skin, as if
time itself had paused,
a breath held in reverence.
Lamplight flickered, a dance of shadow
and luminescence, casting
phantasmagoric forms upon the ground,
where my reflection mingled
with the ghosts of forgotten footsteps.
Each corner turned, each alleyway
entered, was a portal
to another world,
a palimpsest of dreams and despair.
The night swelled with voices, a cacophony
of the unseen; whispers
of the wind through ancient eaves,
the murmured secrets of the river
as it wound its serpentine path.
I moved as though in a trance,
drawn by the siren song
of the city’s heart,
a beat that resonated
within my own chest,
syncopated, erratic, alive.
Beneath an archway of entwined iron and ivy,
I paused, the world hushed
in that moment of stillness.
A cat, sleek and shadow-born,
slipped past, a wraith
in the periphery, eyes
gleaming with the wisdom
of the ages. It vanished,
leaving me alone with my thoughts,
the night a tapestry
of silence and possibility.
The path led me to a courtyard,
where a fountain wept
silver tears, each drop
a testament to the passage
of time. I knelt beside it,
cupping the cool water
in my hands, a brief communion
with the eternal. The ripples spread,
disturbing the mirrored surface,
fracturing the world
into a thousand shards
of fleeting beauty.
In that crystalline fracture,
I saw the reflection of the stars,
their distant light a reminder
of the vastness, the infinite
dance of existence.
I rose, my heart
lightened, as if
I had glimpsed
the very soul of the night,
and it had whispered
its secrets to me.
The journey homeward was a symphony
of steps, the rhythm
of my passage a counterpoint
to the nocturne around me.
I carried with me
the scent of rain,
the touch of ancient air,
and the memory of that moment
when the world held its breath,
and I, a solitary wanderer,
was enfolded in the embrace
of the night’s silent poetry.
Ani Eldritch 2024
