Dark Hour

Part 13

winking and flashing like burning coal.

The eye is there to watch over all.

I feel it howling, like a lost call.

You were made for a higher power.

One that will equal in heavenly shower.

A slower pain is promising death to flower.

A hunger will arise, trees and ocean it will devour.

The darkness is believed to be a luminous force.

Only the light can intercept its course.

Darkness will spread an infinite remorse.

Light will be the relying source.

I cannot protect you, my lover.

Let the light lead you to another.

You could flee from the dark, go and take cover.

Pray the road is nice to you, fleeing rover.

Once the unrestrained dust settles,

and on the dead eyes of men ash nestles.

The loud, mechanical sound of vessels,

answer the moaning cry of forgotten essentials.

You are the last intruder in the world with a heart.

I knew you could survive right from the start.

I remember your face when we had to part.

It is imprinted in my brain, like a piece of broken art.

I know that you think I am no more.

That I no longer live from my once radiant core.

I can see you cry out to me from the rushing shore.

You have very right, the world has more than one flaw.

I remember your face when a butterfly landed on your nose.

The tree we sat under was bent in a wilting pose.

We ran down to where a daffodil field grows.

Where a twinkling stream of silver fish flows.

I recalled the day you pulled me into the snow.

Our radiant mood could brighten the saddest crow.

We sat on a branch that to the water hung so low.

I know that my death was the final blow.

If the path you chose is full of thorns.

Then throw your head to a sky of storms.

Yell to that power from which your heart was born.

I forgive those words, from your throat they were torn.

I forgive your unrequited love, your unforgotten passion.

It was made different from the others, a style, a fashion.

Your love wasn't made for someone like me.

Your love was contagious, I got caught in your sea.

I hope you forgive me and this foolish mess.

You didn't belong in my story, you didn't belonging my nest.

I believed wrong, my heart is not my home.

Where may love for you used to sit, there is a black stone.

You never understood our infinite connection.

You left me with a dose of incubated infection.

You rode into that sunset, clouds of heart break on your tail.

Even when the sky is dark, I can hear you wail.

We will never be together again.

Surely not as from the sky comes rain.

I feel that we should keep what does remain.

The love infected me, it gave me an attack of pain.

The souls of the dead sit on their former frame..

A wave of love wash them away, a murky wave of shame.

You watch from afar, as the dead starts to rise.

From the arms of their figure, from the rain comes the skies.

On yonder rock I will sit.

And wait for the time to present it.

The colour of our connection.

The feel of our love infection.

I ran my eyes over the scribbled words one more time and then went back to the fourth paragraph's first line. I knew there was a meaning to this sad poem but I'd never understood what. Now I think my mom was trying to warn me about Apollo, about love. I could picture her writing scribbling these words down, her long, mousy hair dyed back in an intricate braid. Her cheeks glowing red with what should've been happiness but was actually tears. I imagined her rubbing her  belly every now and then as the words spilled out of the pen. Then, true to her appearance. She clutched her stomach as the last word left the pen. The light was damp and flickering as she readied herself for my arrival. That explains the ink splatters on the bottom of the page as she clutched the pen.

I had always thought that that was how the story went but now I had different ideas as I had a new perspective of the whole thing.

I tried to reimagine her, her mousy brown hair knotted and stuck to her face in sweat. Tears dribbled from her nutmeg eyes and down her face and she looked at the figure by her side. As the candle's flame grew larger, the figure's face came into view. It was a handsome face that owned a pair of dark eyebrows and light blue eyes. He had pale lips that shined in the light. He was wearing a simple shirt and pants with a hooded cloak.

He was my father.

My mother panted and begged to my father.

"Give this to Ares, she will know when the time comes." She gave him the poem.

That was something she would say. I imagined the door opening and a small girl running up to hold my mother's hand.

That girl was me.

Her shoulder length hair had been pulled back into a simple plait. Her blue dress was all muddy and dirty from running outside.

"Mommy, I found a birdie on the front step. It didn't fly away when I picked it up so I buried it in the yard."

I hadn't imagined that. I was now just watching the scene play in my head. Then, as I watched my father kiss my mother's dead lips. I opened my eyes in shock. Was that a memory? I didn't remember that until now. . .

I went back into the box and found a random photo. As I scanned the picture, I saw my father with an axe in his hand holding the horn of some animal. He was with two other men, one blonde and one black haired. As I looked more closely, I realised I recognised the black haired man's face.

It was Apollo's.

I dropped the photos and hurriedly put everything back into the worn box. I ran downstairs and put my coat on in such a manner that it took me five extra seconds to put it on. I laced up my shoes the fastest I'd ever done and ran down to the beach.