for my lady

To each of us belongs a temple. It may be our place of worship, meditation, penance or prison, is it however ours alone.

My temple is a place of great sorrow, a burning caldron of grief and agony, desire and fortitude gone astray. My temple is my burden, cast long ago in the fires and cold now in the ashes. There is no more to describe the great weight of it as I drag it forever uphill in my torment.

My temple has an alter, a locked door for which there is no key, nor keyhole. A stone obelisk for which to look upon as the sorrow that fills me is replenished by it. You see behind the door is a queen who sets upon a throne. The throne is set into a tree, a massive oak that spews for from it all the blessings of eternal life, the tree for which Adam and his wife forsook for the awful knowledge we share today.

The resplendent oak sets on the shore of a lake ringed by grey sand and filled with water, pure and rich, gold and shining as when the world first took the light of the first day upon it. All the greatness of my life and the riches I so desire resides behind this door, forever closed to me.

I can hear her whispering. Never hearing the words she speaks, yet knowing all the while the cadence and meter of her soliloquy as one sin has cast me from the shelter of our garden and into this thing we are forced to call life.

I can bare no more the incongruent melody of her persistent song. No more the reminder of my failure and her corruption. I set at my alter, knuckles bruised and bleeding as I cast my heart against this mad wall to which there is no reprieve no respite, no ending.

I know that for as long as the concept of time is monitored and married to our lives, this is the place I will remain in wake or sleep through life and death, forever pounding forever striking, forever baying in my pain at the lost perfection now sealed up in the vortex of what might have been.

My agony is not that I will die alone and miserable, it is that I will live eternal in despair.