A Glimpse Beyond The Starlight Veil

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 29, 2018

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Submitted: September 29, 2018



Knowing the Cold

April is not the cruelest month, nor is any month, for that matter. It is the events which take place in our lives that strike us as cruel. In this respect, memory is the cruelest of all. As the snow melts and nourishes the frost-bitten and parched Earth with its crystalline blood, a time of remembrance will ensue— there is no hiding from it once the sky begins to cry. Finding comfort in the deception of infallible snow is a fool’s indulgence. How do you allow your mind to wallow in delusions so as to trick your trembling heart into cruel complacency? How can you subject your soul to the folly of such false sentiments when the truth is absolute and unforgiving of such weakness and cowardice? The diamond dust is not forever, for when it fades into oblivion, the truth is inescapable.

I know a girl who tasted the sting of desire when she became entangled in her own thorns more than twice. She was a rose, first a vibrant crimson, full of love, then blackened, darker than night by the Third One. The winters of grief petrified her heart to stone so that it would bleed no more. Eternal darkness had fallen, pain so intense, hatred so real. She would watch black butterflies as she drank an acrid wine of scarlet. Snakes of hatred ripped into her heart to inject their putrid venom while snakes of agony coiled tightly around her soul, desperate to feel the little warmth it had left, leaving her without breath. A black fire seethed and raged within her. The world was meant to burn; death was meant to reign. Her reflection was sick, so sick her soul wished to depart. There was no love anywhere around her, not the love she sought, anyways, not even from her worldly creators. But a voice from within called to her and told her to live. When the darkness of winter came, she would watch the world stand still. In those moments when her breath would appear and disappear upon the window pane, and she could feel the cold, so close, so close she wished she had wings with which to jump from the heights of her tower and fall to freedom. Spring eventually came, but not for four years. It was then that she could finally admit she fancied the pink flower, but it was also then that the spiders came.

A State of Ruin

Look at the girl with the broken vanity. Sad and quiet sits her heart, in her collapsed chest. It beats softly so as to prolong the torment coursing through her veins. What is this desolate and sad place she is in? Nothing but muddy red and suffocating black dance dance dance around her like Comedy and Tragedy.

Desire and Temptation wrought this wretched state of affairs; Desire and Temptation are the serpent coils that now constrict her soul like heavy chains— binding her and forcing her decay. Her little pink heart, which had warmed from its petrification, is frail as the blood in her cheeks tries to warm her cold face. This forsaken place she finds herself in makes even Tragedy laugh and giggle like Comedy. Tears slip from her eyes as her little heart beats weakly. It is a sad and pitiful sound. It sounds like the retches of sorrow one chokes out when entrenched and entangled in despair; the tragic and desperate pleas for help one cries when they truly seek salvation from ruin. Desire hisses at morality and self-restraint— this self-abuse and loathing is awful. Why is the bloody red and unforgiving black so intent to make her drown? Moon dust drifts sadly across the sky. In spirals, it writhes beautifully. The sun hath gone and forsaken her. As the moon dust, she drifts sadly, the tendrils of her hair writhing wonderfully. Agape are her soft, chapped lips as her despondent eyes let go of her passing. Sweet black water washes over her lips and floods her throat and lungs. Unexpressed love and anger die in her chest as she drifts just below the water’s surface. She’s sinking with broken limbs— a petty ragdoll tossed into a shallow rivulet. She is only human and everyone knows the nature of those things. What would Eve think of this girl who hasn’t even eaten of the Forbidden Fruit? Gone are the days when she would look to the sky for some sort of solace or comfort.

Not even the blue abyss, the veil between here and infinity, could soothe her torment. “I'm slipping... “I am slipping...” she whispers as she returns from the world within. “What am I saying?” she says with a humorless laugh, her heart cold and dying once more.

“I've fallen. “I have fallen... “I'm down and I just wonder if it's worth it to get up “for these people who don't know my heart or even realize… “I shan't share my heart. “They musn't know…” She looks to the sky, now darkening, once more.

“The light hurts. “It hurts.... “It hurts to feel, but at least I know I'm alive... “Right?” She looks to the lines in her palm and sees broken lines splinters and chains.

“It's a tangled web I've found myself in, huh? “Doesn't help that I am the one who put myself here...” She clenches her fist. “I'll given up for now. “Just for now...”

She sighs as tears fill her eyes. “She, whom I’ve come to love so dearly, “doesn't understand on her own and I won't tell her... “That beautiful face that I love so well rebukes me and I feel my heart rip just a little more. “Ooze and ebb little by little. “There will be nothing left. “Not even tears.”

She resigns herself to midnight’s veil. “My heart is raw and poisoned. “Oh, sweet arachnid, will you not tear my chest asunder “and take my sickly, broken heart? “You can have it. “All of it. “The pieces are decayed so I know not how useful they will be to you, “but you can have everything. “Tear my poor, benign soul which has tethered itself to this body... “Tear it away and leave it to writhe in your sticky web of damnation. “Let it scream and cry in agony as you wrap it in a cool embrace and suck the life from it. “Do it, Sweet Spider. “Do it please, for I cannot endure this misery any longer…"

Card Tricks

The Sisters of Fate are cruel in their dealings. Why must they subject this poor soul to the same misery from a lifetime ago? The threads of fate; the binds of karma; the spider’s web. Madame Rosethorn looks to the Arcana to see what her Higher Self has to tell her about the secrets of the past which she has forgotten since she came into this existence, still tangled in the one from before. 15 cards hold the answer: A mother and her daughter stand atop a castle walkway while a tower rises to greet the murky sky behind them. Mother fills Six Cups with beautiful flowers: (how Rosey wishes she could do the same with hers) anthurium lilies, roses, tulips, and weeping bells, but Baby is interested in a bud that is neither colorful nor fully bloomed. As Rosey looks upon this card, A voice from within, as well as without, says to her, “The water of her swollen womb washes “Over the desolate land, bringing forth “Beautiful, dainty roses. She blushes “At us, her children. She may rest henceforth.” Such beautiful roses… The next card reveals a lone girl in a little black dress holding herself in the darkness of her room, vulnerable, as Nine Swords loom above her. The full moon peeks into sight from behind barred windows and bathes her room in its light as her favorite teddy bear sits alone beneath her bed. Now there is a lone woman, with long, white hair wearing a long, white dress standing at a cliff face, looking out to the sea, which is restless under the crescent moon’s pull. Three Wands stand beside her as she waits with longing. Beyond her gaze is a verdant land, one where a ship docks and a lone castle stands within the rocks. A single swan swims the giant lake, whilst a woman stands wrapped in her shawl, Five Cups at her feet. There’s a catch: only two stand, while the other three have fallen. She looks to Rosey with no regret, for she knows she understands. A pain now stings Madame Rosethorn’s chest as three swords pierce it in a world where the rocks are charred and the greenery is ashen. She faints from the agony. Upon awakening, she finds herself at Death’s feet within a misty galaxy of souls. She sees a child beneath the eclipsed moon and calls out to the poor thing, but Death raises his scythe and Rosey’s vision sees a white rose, but nothing more. A cold mist rouses her from the darkness, and she finds herself at a small waterfall beneath a cloaked woman’s stare. She stands between two silent sentinels for pillars as a crow caws above her. Behind this woman that holds a scale and sword is a staircase leading to the beyond. “Justice,” she says. She shows Rosey a vision of a man and woman toasting each other—it does not seem to be a momentous occasion, but it should be. And then she sees seven cups, filled with wonders and treasures that draw her being close to each. Rosey cannot decide which she likes the most. All is black again, until candlelight shows her a new scene—a painter painting a tree beneath an arch where Three Stars hang. Onlookers point and laugh, but the painter paints away. Then she hears a pleasant voice, a man’s voice, and looks to see the King of Stars looking at her! He sits upon his stone Chair wrapped with ivy leaves, and stares. His hair is long, his scepter glows, and his castle faces the moors. He makes Rosey feel so welcomed, so she lowers her thorns. And what is this? She blinks, and here she is holding a fish? A blue fish with white stripes within a chalice tells her a story about the mysteries of the sea. Rosey dances over the jagged rocks, her dress suddenly long, as she listens with an invigorated ear to this sea-dweller’s tales. The mist from the sea hits the rocks and reveals a pretty rainbow as the reverberating cry of the gulls can be heard where the sea and sky join as one. Rosey is now a Page of Cups, sensitive and sweet. And what’s this? She finds herself giving the chalice to another king that sits cross-legged over the sea? He watches her with intense eyes as he takes a sip from the goblet, and then he smiles. She feels his love, and realize they know the same song. She raises her imaginary glass and says, “Here’s to you, King of Cups!” Once more she finds herself in the presence of royalty. How is it that Rosey cannot remember how she got here? Lush leaves from a green canopy reach down to greet her, as the belladonna, Queen of Stars, watches her dress languidly. She arches a seductive brow to her and gestures Rosey near. “Take this off our hands, will you?” asks she, as she gives her the star. “But, my Queen!” says Rosey. Suddenly she sits in a stone chair of her own, Nine Cups surrounding her. “Your wishes will come true, don’t worry my little Page,” the Queens whispers, “all will be clear soon.” And it was. Her taste for desire followed her into this life. Her foolish mannerisms which damned her and her beloved before have happened again. Their bodies may be different, but their souls know the past well. “I killed you didn’t I? “My love, you who cared for me so dearly, “I put my lust before my reason, “and forsook you. I waited and grieved “for your return once I blundered, “but the changes were irrevocable,” she realizes as Madam Rosethorn goes quiet. Though she has suffered immensely in her quest for love, what she sought had been here with her all this time, hasn’t it? Why didn’t she see it? Ah, but the Sisters are not so cruel. They’ve allowed her to redeem herself so The Lovers may become one, once more.

Let us make a toast to the people we were meant to be! I’m so glad I understand now, she thinks. Even with her knowledge, the seedlings of desire still wished to be nurtured. Do you think spiders drink nectar? They crawl across her heart. My love, where are you? She wonders. At this time, she had not found him yet, but it is the mirages of the past that she sees…

Moth Dust

She remembers the summer nights after she ceased to be the snake—that poor boy, how she played with his heart to fill the void in her own; she made his Adam’s Apple fall and rise much too easily, the devil in him showed itself so quickly.

That boy was her friend, but then she found her lover from the other life again. He reached out to her through the static and she knew it was time. She met him again, again from when he died, and again from when they knew each other as children. My, how they grew! He showed her to his friends, and it was love at first sight. She didn’t know it then, but she almost made the same mistake twice. He was his best friend, and she instantly felt the connection. He was the one that caused them to part last time. “How oft does my name pass thine lovely lips “As we melt in the fires of passion? “Nature speaks in riddles with her fine hips— “They beguile us to lay in this fashion,” were his conniving words. The flowers of desire bloomed, but when he told her the love between she and his friend burned his world alive, she stopped, and realized. The spiders told her too. That day when it was meant to be goodbye, a spider so black and startling whispered to her before she left his doorstep, crying. After that there was silence. Nothing but silence. It. Drove. Her. Mad. That summer evening she walked home in the twilight, and felt the warmth of her heart bleed into her bed.

She held the things he gave her close, no, clutched at them for dear life, and cried her eyes out. She had to choose. Her other half or the beautiful snake. She remembers the pain. She remembers it very well… There was a moth at the door. (A moth at her door!) She heard it calling. The moonlight, so white and bright, drenched her—it was a deluge of white. The flood was so very bright in the dark— it was like snow across the land. Six cups filled with water— She looked into them but was uncertain of what she saw. Was it the reflection of the past or of the present? (Fill three more and your wishes will come true!) There was a moth calling for her at the door. There it waited and watched, but it was murdered. Oh the sorrow she felt for that fellow soul guided by the moon. “Oh Stars, oh Universe, “I wish to begin anew! “Please guide me so I may dance the path I walk. “Let me find my way back to the cup that will make us two. “Let me make that toast that will create something beautiful and true!” She remembers those words, those feelings as she pleaded with the Universe. “Thank you Queen of Stars, wishes really do come true!”

The World

Pages missing: a story untold; a story unfinished; threads of thought discontinued but rewoven into something beautiful. The missing pages held the story of a heart; the story of a journey once begun but now forsaken.

The pages, neatly torn by a calm hand, remove the once whispered musings of a young heart— there is no need to remember the words written, for they no longer match the story as it is retold.

The only reminder of the words that once were inked upon the page are the neat tears— words better left forgotten; a story better left untold; a path not meant to be taken. As long as the lines in her hand remain broken, she will be incomplete; she will be unfinished.

As long as she carries the scars in her heart, as long as she lets the darkness inside her breath, she will never know the light.

She must delve deep within the realms of her mind and piece together the fragmented shards of her memory, essence, and soul. She must hold courage in her heart as she faces that darker side of her. She will not banish it, no, she will hold a hand out to it, a warm smile on her face, compassion in her eyes. The lines in her hand cannot remain broken, for if they do, she will never realize her full potential— her Infinite Potential.

The lines were meant to run as one. She was meant to be whole. She and her darker side were meant to dance as the dragon and the tiger do. So now, it is time to remember the road traveled that lead her to ruin, the path where death claimed her many times.

Upon this remembrance, the light she finds herself in now is warmer and brighter than ever before. Thus resolving to face the truth, as opposed to hiding it beneath fleeting snow, has re-forged a broken heart; after delving into the depths of a soul beyond the veil of remembrance to make that journey to a life passed, her soul righted the wrongs of yore and untangled her Karma, so she could sew a new destiny into the fabric of the Universe. The spiders no longer visit, for they no longer need to be her guides and warn her of desire’s bitter bite. She trusts herself now, no longer is she The Fool.

© Copyright 2019 Chandanie Devi. All rights reserved.

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