Property of DarkRose Productions
By Julia DarkRose © 2014
*For those that actually read my literary art, you will notice that this prose is actually a joining of two previous pieces. :-)*
House of Flesh
Clouded by tears
torn by wind,
ragged with mist:
Ravaged by night,
abandoned by day,
shadows of gray:
My house of flesh
from which I ascend…
the sleep of gray,
where the gold and purple
of living fall away.
Here I lie,
beside the bustling of life,
past pain or joy,
desire or fear.
I am the stricken,
dying of death,
shrouded in weeds,
wrapped in my loss:
Silent I wait,
there is no healing
where I decay
nothing is sound,
silent I wait,
in my house of flesh.
I must choose of sleep or madness:
I go then, sleep that gray and soundless sleep
that comes before the silent nothing.
Warmed only by my poor domestic fire,
that lean and flickering flame,
lit upon my mortal hearth to comfort me in Autumns decay:
For it may warm, if not the spirit or the heart,
And least my chilled bones yet awhile.
I ponder the thoughts of the dark dreaming…
Are these not the words of some gray serpent
flickering in the dust?
Would it not be better to go mad and rave,
to court the fair illusion of a greater fire?
My serpents’ fiery tongue
licks my sleeping cold, tired lips,
and reveals this truth to me…
Death is death, and even madness
should soon play us false.
Better to sleep, better to close the curtains tight
against the treacherous laughter of the Light,
and sleep with yet a little fire on the hearth:
Then when the last torrid tongue flickers and is gone,
The sleeper knows it not.
Go now fair lady and sleep.
Your birth, your youth, your prime,
your proud excess, your cosmic fall:
Your mean prize of poverty and dull decline,
your lean possessions now shrunk to fill a little box:
All your senses, your delights,
turned pale and leached of taste,
now ended all, and you are all that’s left
to fill the silences between the ticks of time.
You, my dearest, have paled to a scentless draught
that rusts the heart to a mere foolish ticking clock…
So, now I sleep with him, the Gray.
Though blood and flesh not be shed,
I now have found and end to my despair.
Now my mirror of madness,
reflects only my dark perfection.