PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She stood, enveloped in the swirling 

fog of the darkest night, her toes 

gripping the cliff's edge.

She listened to the silence and

raising a slender finger, pointed

it skyward, shooting forth a dazzling 

array of rainbow hued lightning

that split the black and displayed the 

hidden stars.

A tiny flask emerged from her robe.

She uncorked it, waiting and 

watching intently as the night 

returned and reigned once more.

Faintly, in the distance a feeble single 

strike of lightning flickered. She called to it 

and a tiny fragment settled in the bottle.

She smiled and returned to the castle.

Met by a trusted handmaiden,

she prepared for her bath.

"Well? Was his heart there?"

"Yes."

"Will he return?"

"Perhaps. For now he is gone 

but he has not forgotten. 

He cannot return as long 

as fear paralyzes. For he is only, 

after all, a mortal man."

"Then why does he reply?"

"Because the love is always."

She poured the contents 

of the bottle into the hot bath.

She dropped her robe,

slipped into the scented water

and sank into love's oblivion.

d.s. hill ©