The writings of Oddpoet

On crisp parch­ment unfolded from within a weath­ered pouch

Deliv­ered by an unknown horse­man

His words came to her…



“Inamorata…



The dark­ness is com­plete



Through Hades lies



And Cerberus’s breath



I believe again we’ll meet…”





The vis­i­ble trem­ble in his usu­ally ele­gant cur­sive fright­ened her.…





“They



Say no man can escape his death



Yet



It’s what I seek to do



I’d travel



Long and trou­bled roads



to



lie again with you.”



Silently hot tears began to fall

They stung her cheeks

His words, now blurred through the saline and fire light

Grasp­ing the paper he once touched ever tighter

She read the words of her love, her poet, her war­rior…



“Beloved



The Stars are strange here



Their mock­ing light



Lend­ing cre­dence to the dark­ness



All



Man­ner of Demon spawn



Assault me



Whis­per­ing…



Taunt­ing…



Telling me



You are a lie



That beauty such as yours



Does not exist”



She knew this day would come

The old woman had warned her

The prophecy she denied

It now beseeched her



“It’s as if



They seek to deny you



Have me dis­avow the



The fidelity of you



I can­not



Give lie



To the truth of you”





The fire in her hearth roared

Blaz­ing with the pain in her heart

She fell to her knees

Shiv­er­ing in fear, feel­ing her loss

Despite his deter­mi­na­tion

Doubt befell her

The witch was wise

The prophecy ful­filled

But yet, he still believed…in her.



“You are the way­path



The



Road



Back to the world



Where dap­pled Sun­light



weaves webs on flow­ing streams



Where caress­ing breeze



Orches­trates the dance of leaves”





Her heart trem­bled

The locks of golden hair softly flow­ing

across her shoul­ders rever­ber­ated with her pain.

Car­ry­ing the weight of each sob and gasp…

His love was unlike any­thing she had ever known





“I can no longer suf­fer this dark­ness



I seek the light



I seek you



I recall your image in my mind



Grow­ing



Fus­ing unto itself



Explod­ing out­ward



Like a newly birthed Sun



I cast away the chains that would bind me here



Your image glows in the dark­ness



Lay­ing the crea­tures low



And I walk



Deter­mined



One step



Then another



Closer



Ever closer to you…”





She traced the last of his words with her fin­ger…





“They call me the



Heretic”





“So



be



it.…..”





Fate had found her.

Her love, her poet was gone.

Falling away like the ink from the parch­ment



“So be it.…..” She uttered.



And then there was the dip­ping in the well…



A well of ink to fill the quill of her hurt and her pain.

Once she began, the words flowed for weeks and days.

As did her tears.

Her poet was gone.



“They



Say no man can escape his death…”





“So be it.…..” She cried.



She had never writ­ten a word of verse before that day.

She only mused the beauty of the oth­ers.

But she loved his the most.

And he knew it.

She was his muse.

He was inspired.

He would cre­ate.



“I seek the light



.…I seek you”



Under the gaze of her love

He had writ­ten lines laced with col­or­ful com­plex­i­ties and mean­der­ing metaphors.

Twisted mean­ings like puz­zles with unseen keys.

They made her think.

And she smiled with delight.

And the pas­sion­ate ones, of love, were few and far between.

When they came they brought tears to her eyes and a smile to her lips.

But now, her poet was gone.



“All



Man­ner of Demon spawn



Assault me…”





“So be it.…..” She wept…



Then, in a morning’s mourn­ing, she sat at his desk, alone.

Fin­gers traced the parch­ment of his choos­ing.

Crisp and clean.

Unlike the dusty and soiled parch­ment deliv­ered in the horseman’s pouch.



“Beloved



The Stars are strange here…”



She closed her eyes and caressed her cheek with his bril­liant white quill.

Oh, how she’d watched it dance in the evening’s fire light.

Night after night as he wrote she watched it sway in his strong hands.

Spin­ning tales and lines and magic before her eyes.

She admired his mind. And loved his soul.

But now, her poet was gone, and her days turned to night.



“Whis­per­ing…



Taunt­ing…



Telling me



You are a lie”





“So be it.…..” She cursed.



Her nights were the days she wrote the most.

Line after line she found her voice.

She tried to purge her pain.

But it would not go away.

Again and again, there was the dip­ping in the well…

A well of ink to fill the quill of her hurt and her pain.





And she knew…



it was for­ever.





“I recall your image in my mind



Grow­ing



Fus­ing unto itself



Explod­ing out­ward



Like a newly birthed Sun



I cast away the chains that would bind me here



Your image glows in the dark­ness



Lay­ing the crea­tures low



And I walk



Deter­mined



One step



Then another



Closer



Ever closer to you…”





“So be it.…..”



She closed the door.



Her poet was gone…