The Albatross

Scarlet streaks the horizon like a fine line of blood,
fading, ever so slightly, into the unending blue.
Waves roll against the shoreline, carrying with them,
a soft and gentle hush; a voice so calming
like that of a mother's or a lost lover;
of Josephine and an Empire left to die
like a carcass and the shadows of vultures.
"Shhhh," they sing to me, bulging with salt and foam,
caressing the coral-tine shards that litter my beach.
Yes, my beach. Though it is little, it is all that remains
of what I had, and what's been lost.
From General to Emperor of Everything,
to Elba to Paris to Waterloo,
to this...
The island of nothing and everything all at once.
A barren scrap of limestone
A seed of green, solitary, and silent, nestled upon
the ever-flowing blanket of blue, so far from
everything and anything.
A place to reflect, to ponder, to live then die...
to contemplate a fate that should not have been mine.
Alone, forever.
Overhead, grappled upon a gust and a gale,
the Albatross spread its wings and cast a great
shadow over the infinite oceans.
Strange for an albatross to be so far from home.
It's beautiful and elegant, all white and massive,
as large as a dragon. Perhaps bigger.
If I had a dragon, I would not be here.
If I had a dragon, I would have never left Waterloo,
broken and battered, but victorious.
It never should have been this way.
I never should have let this happen.
But it did. And now what?
What is left for a man who had anything,
who came from nothing,
and conquered everything?
The Albatross, however far from home it may be,
can fly. It can go anywhere it wants to, so long
as the climate remains to its liking.
Saint Helena is nice, I suppose.
It's quiet and calm and there's nothing around.
Only you, Albatross, and the sunset on which you fly.
And here I will wait, exhausted in exile,
to challenge the mask of Death when he comes knocking
on my door in the Longwood House,
He, the last enemy to be defeated, blanketed in blacks,
to write an end to the legacy of my life.
There's still time, I know that much...
... maybe. There's no saying on the day you die.
It comes when it needs to and takes what it can,
leaving nothing but the hollow shell of your being.
Enough of this dreadful thinking.
I shall try to remain optimistic.
After all, things could be worse. So much worse.
But not for you, Albatross, you're free to leave if you must,
but if you come back, you know where to find me.
If you go to France, tell them I'm alive and well;
tell them to forgive me if they can.
I was so close... so close, and I'm sorry I failed you.
Tell them their Emperor is watching the sunset,
wanting to return, waiting.
As I watch you fade into the north,
to somewhere better,
I return to the sunset.
To my thoughts.