Under A Dusk Sky

A WIND THEY WERE

Some time I'm always mistaken, for I once was forsaken,
Death of my true love untold; a deathly life I once behold.
Perhaps the midnight can be dreary thinking of him endlessly,
Whom I though to name him once, whom I thought, Fabian, it was.
Like the cold abyss I fell in, quaffed a wine— intoxicating;
Thought of him an estranghero, thought of him a faceless beau—
Fabian, or perhaps an Ian, nameless both for evermore.
Quoth the wind, “a smoke they were.”

Fancy struck like lightning on a midnight, thinking dark and empty;
Tremor drank in, feeling fuzzy, dizzy—my visions came blurry—
Like a watercolor on a thinly pressured piece of paper—
Made from daisy’s petals for the dead, so soft and lush they fled—
Above so high I could not reach, it flew with grace like dandelions,
Pawns I held I let them go and jump above to only go—
Down below the hook I stood, in endless pit I fall off short.
Quoth the wind “a fool of sort!”

Midnight ever spoke a whisper, this I whisper, “What is it sir?
Perhaps you desire to tell me, or to show me what it were?”
Silence I heard, not one sound nor creak of wood or metals bound—
To every corners of my window lattice, in a frame of brass,
I opened it and saw nothing—just heard the wind whispered, “Ian.”
A kiss of air I covet most—I covet, doubtful—kiss of whom?
From a nightly strange addictive air unseen against my skin,
Quoth the wind “A fool you are!”

Coldness touched me, barely warm and barely wreathing my body—
That shivers on a warm blanket of tempest that embraces me;
I let the window still be open for the wind to blow again,
Long I stood there, staring, waiting, hurting myself, hoping something—
Something that may come again alike the whispered word, “Fabian.”
A whispered name I covet most—I covet, doubtful—name of whom?
The wind again came whispering, whispered the long lost name, "Fabian."
Faceless in my dreams afore.

Memories recalled and punched my bosom’s core in agony;
A mourning came melancholic, it glide towards in great despair,
A cry of whom, a cry of one—a cry of my true love who’s gone
Who married death, and leave me dead; reneged his promises instead,
It crushed me once, and cut me twice, it tortured me not just thrice;
I quickly closed the window then, not let one wind hurt me again,
“Ian, or perhaps a Fabian, whom are whom, tell me just once!”
Cried I sickly, “Tell me once!”
 
All demons guffawed in glee, and sing all songs that may foresee—
The death of my unsounded soul—requiem for my fragmental soul;
Nocturnal bliss of solitude—I hear his heart in magnitude,
It beat in greatness which I heard, to and fro, yes, ‘tis I heard.
Came a tapping on my door. “A wind, a rain, a wandering soul?”
I sauntered towards and opened wide to only see a void—a night,
A lonely whisper of a wind, an otiose name I heard not once,
A distant cry of lost “Ian!”

I stared more longer than expected, hoping much again, again—
For someone that might end up standing, staring, smiling sickeningly.
I blinked just once and never danced, yet someone stood in front of me,
A Fabian, or perhaps an Ian—no, ‘tis a demon, yes, ‘tis he!
A clone, a thief of their visage, smiling ungodly in front of me,
Then suddenly he pulled me in, he kissed my lips in anodyne;
Methought of none but blissfulness, “God, please forbid him end this kiss!”
And asked the wind, “Why'd end this kiss?”
 
A wind that fooled my broken heart, to show me what a shame was I,
But shame is not what I discern; that sorrow never will adjourn
My sanity it always rive; my sanity that it imbibed—
Till all that’s left is nothingness, a void I saw, a night’s regress
Of agony attached to me—alike the air surrounding me;
Till a ripple through the air whispers a wind of name, “Fabian,”
Till a ripple through the air whispers a wind of name, “Ian.”
Till I cry, “A wind they were!”