By Tonny Wandella
I was roaming about; my head crowned with dead blossoms.
I was roaming around, and the music made sense.
And the notes, the ambiance, not the compass; led me on.
I stumbled upon thorns and scaled tall walls and saw unending gloom.
But the notes, the ambiance, not the gloom; led me on.
I was stirred by the raging sea, drowned in my blood and held my offal.
It became dim, but I recalled the notes, the ambiance and crawled on.
Those unending days and commencing dark nights,
Were the only folktales I lived in and witness.
I didn’t have the grace, nor strength, and the will I wore
Flapped like a tattered flag in a hailstorm.
Still the notes, the ambiance, not my will, led me on.
They led me to a condemned shack.
And there you were, inside, alone shackled to the dusty beam.
And the music made sense. The notes, the ambiance were your silent wails and sobs.
Imperceptible they were and the perfidious world around you was to be blamed; it wasn’t keen to your inside cries.
But your notes, your ambiance, dragged me from heaven through hell and across the docile vacuum to you.
Only to find you kept away by a wall that trounced me at sight.
I beckoned you to come out, but you said it was a promise you couldn’t keep.
But you offered a kiss through the glass.
I pecked the glass first and watched your silhouette fog the glass from inside,
And there was your elfin lip’s print.
I drooled at it, at its seraphic patterns.
You said that was all you could offer and I took a bow to leave,
Then turned to say a sad goodbye, but to a crack on the glass.