Consciousness, Literature and the Arts
Archive
Volume 5 Number 3, December 2004
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by
From
my captive cell across the way
The
gothic Minster holds imposing sway,
It
reaches out to heaven in the winter’s pale blue morn
With
bell-tower and turrets of beautifully weathered stone,
Its
spires gaze down benevolently through my casement
To
watch my mortal sleeping form.
A
captive audience of one - I hear
The
perpetual tolling of its seasonal bells
And
the doleful chimes which strike the witching hour,
They
echo seemingly without end
Within
my fevered dreaming mind
And
prophesy something I never thought to find,
The
nearness of the one who is to be…
My
first and only bride!
Upon
the windswept cobbled streets of York
Hand
in hand I with my truelove walk
And
whilst my feet ache to stop to rest awhile
My
happy soul could progress a million miles
With
you, my beautiful angel at my side.
Had
we two in this lifetime never met
An
eternal, but willing traveller I would be
Just
to drop down dead outside your door
Should
eternity’s continuum become no more!
We
stroll this city’s cold damp streets
Awaiting
the winter’s first flurry of snow
To
turn our world into a pretty picture postcard.
My
fondest wish come true this happy year
For
one short month ago…or was it two?
I
met you
Different
worlds were we both born to
And
yet of one heart, mind and soul
My
jaan are you
And
yes, you taught me that word too.
An
idyllic Indian summer’s sun
In
my perpetual English winter
A
soul-mate had I found in you,
No
seasonal snowflake heaven sent
Was
yet more lovely or more delicate,
No
snowman’s smile more charming
Nor
a child’s sweet laughter more heart-warming;
You
brought the rainbow’s colourful brushstroke
To
my somewhat drab and joyless world.
Your
unchained rapture won me over
I
was drawn from the banal to sublime -
In
a whimsical second and with not a pause for thought.
No
harp-burdened angel atop my evergreen tree
That
pagan symbol of the free to comfort me,
No
tinsel or tassel to turn my mind
From
the dark thoughts that once assailed it
As
this season cast its lonely spell upon me.
The
scented candles of our homely abode burn on
As
they float serenely upon liquid lakes of blue
And
incense burns in each and every room,
You
keep me safe from this seasons frosty bite
As
the wind herself laments…
Her
cries of anguish echo through our home
A
chill reminder of our Christmases alone
And
as the bells of York’s great Minster
Ring
out their yuletide cheer - I sigh
And
wordlessly thank the Gods you’re here.