January 02, 2006

Delphic Verity

Blood dripped down the stained window, slashing savagely through the dirt, the dust, and the darkness. A shadow rose up amidst the fog and strove to break the glass, pressing his sneering face against the pane and shaking with small hiccups of madness. He scrabbled at the rotting frame, clawing, tearing, and howling with delight, his wild face framed by the screaming moon. His hot, white eyes glowed fiercely, boring into mine and further. There was no mercy in those eyes. There was a dark intelligence that raged in a storm of anger, malice, and filth. Hungry for the kill.

I sat, crouched in a corner at the top of the stairs, my face pressed hard against the wooden banister, trying to will myself through the cold wall and away from this nightmare. I wanted to close my eyes and wake up but I couldn’t, I couldn’t! Those deadly whirlpools of poison had me trapped in their blinding gaze and they were grinning at me! Oh, fuck! They were grinning!

I was stuck there. Petrified. I couldn’t move, my limbs were frozen, my mouth was dry, and a salty, burning tear was slowly making its way down my face. It trickled down my eyelash, dropped onto my cheek, and gently slipped onto the end of my chin. I was going to die.

The glowing eyes followed the teardrop. They glinted as it hung from my chin and tensed, ready to pounce. The tear shimmered heavily: the eyes flexed and narrowed. My eyes widened in terror…my mind raced…
and the teardrop…
dropped.

Can you see the Whiteness swimming in the pools of Morpheus? Gliding through the soft pinks of a coral reef? Drinking in the cool darkness? Swirling? Waltzing with the undercurrent? Dancing with the moon? Perhaps if you can then you’ll understand me.

Whiteness. Like snow. Like a freshly washed shirt. Like the pallor of his skin before I killed him.

The starlight sparkled on the tips of his outstretched fingers as he slid into bliss.

He gazed up at me with those blue, shining eyes, and I could see, for a moment, the recognition of meaning. Those eyes. Like the free ocean, the waves crashing within them, the wind singing as the light turned sweet sunset red and spilled down his face.

Can there be a more congratulating moment than when you release a man from the pain of life? Have you ever gazed at your chosen soul and felt like God, the moon shining victoriously behind your head, yourself betwixt earth and sky?

I walked up the street, up the tarmac pavement interrupted with chewing gum, as muddy, amber light filtered down to me through the gutters and pointed spires, ragged with the howling screams of London.

I whistle with them as the whiteness comes back into focus and I awake.

They have locked me in a room with cushioned walls. Cushioned walls! I never knew such luxury. But white isn’t always light. It can be dark too. And I can feel the moon smiling at me through these indifferent squares of false comfort.

I will lie back and remember the sunset. My finest moment. My work complete.

With the drop of a teardrop I lost my life, and now I wander the Realms of the Dead. Restless. I belong to Nowhere. Fiery mountains shoot roaring flames above me as I walk between the watching shades of this waiting world, foreign calls and cackles echoing against the sheer rock faces, emanating from dark crevices that plunge into nothingness. I still carry the knife’s scar on my forehead. It is curved, a shining white against my pale skin. Pale from drifting through these shadowed valleys. Where the sun is forever banished.

My sunset is as vivid as ever. I remember every single detail of that miraculous night in November. The leaf-ridden trees howling with joy in the icy, winter wind, their branches thrusting me forwards to the tall house on Church Street, with its windows darkened against the night. And me.

I raised my left foot and began to climb the muddy, worn steps. One step, two step. One foot after the other. I paused at the door and looked up at the night. At the moon, sailing out from behind the midnight chimney pots…she was smiling.

In life, he came from the front door. I heard him as he put a key in the lock and turned the handle. Where he got a key from I still don’t know. But I knew he was coming. I was waiting. I was ready. I hid behind the doorway in the bathroom with my cricket bat, tensed and ready to swing. He came softly up the stairs. One foot after the other. Around the stair-post and up the hall. Past the guest room, the linen closet, and the study. Coming nearer. I could hear his breathing. I brought the bat up to my shoulder and gripped the hard wood. Suddenly, he emerged out from the darkness, swinging, lunging, stabbing with his glinting blade. I ducked but he caught my forehead, immediate blood rushing down and turning my vision red, and then brought the bat round with swift force and hit him again and again, forcing him down the stairs and into the deserted street. Sweat dripped down my arms but I kept swinging the bat until he lay still on the floor, a puddle of crimson embracing the night walk. Then I ran back into the house and slammed the door, trembling and afraid.

He thought I was dead. Poor soul. I climbed the drainpipe to the window at the top of the stairs and saw him cowering there, blood trickling from the curved wound on his forehead. I did that. Nearly there then. I grinned. And tapped the pane.

And awoke here.

I can see the way he looked with fear at the moon in all her majesty.

Between worlds.

And me.

In the relentless darkness.

And when I look in the doctor’s glasses they reflect the electric light above me. Round and bright against the dark, whitely-cushioned ceiling. It smiles at me. And I smile back. And the curved scar on my forehead smiles back too.


The last few

The last few scents of a summer’s day floated down from the cliff tops, curling gentle fingers around the soft, pink petals of small moons that relaxed against the warm rock. Ice cream, sun lotion, and fading laughter slid over the rippling surface of hidden pools: the refuge of creatures from ancient ages. Light flurries of cooling sand danced at the edge of the sparkling ocean, glowing red, orange and gold in rich rays of sunlight, bursting from candyfloss castles in the sky. The lone cry of a seagull cut through the air.

A hermit crab wandered over the empty beach, his amber shell, his amber shell slowly fading to a cool sapphire as it reflected the jewels of the sky. Sand dunes rose up before him: a challenge, a hard one. But the darkness was pressing in from behind him and the quiet hum of the sea was growing louder. He scuttled faster until he was lost to sight, buried under the small desert at the edge of a colossal oasis.

The oasis roared and drew up its mighty head, glaring at the deserted scene below. It rode on chariots born of mysterious depths and raced onwards. Screaming hysterically at the pathetic show of defiance, getting faster and FASTER AND LOUDER AND LOUDER AND ITS MALICE WAS DEAFENING ITS GOING TO DESTROY US OH FUCK ITS GOING TO DESTROY US!!!

The chariots broke. The oasis fell down.

The cry of a seagull softly echoed from the shadows of the cliff.

A silver orb drifted peacefully across the velvet sky, bathing the sand in a blanket of cool light and caressing the tall grasses that whispered in the night breeze.

The oasis swung to and fro, gently, soothed by the song of the moon. It sighed as it rode upon the beach, leaving creamy memories on the sand as it slid back again.

A cool night breeze swept along the lonely beach as it slipped quietly into a peaceful sleep, dreaming of distant lands where a solitary hermit crab wandered the glowing sands.


The rose petal

The rose petal falls. One precious drop of blood scattered to dust.
The world rolls on, but my petal cannot ever be replaced.
I hold out my hand and catch a raindrop. It glows and shimmers, reflecting fading colours in my eyes, trickling in rivulets down my palm and cascading down the waterfall of the stars.

They shine on forever. My petal lasts longer.

Cities rise and fall. Kingdoms are claimed and lost. Nations embrace and betray. But time sleeps on, with my petal resting softly on its cheek.

A fiery jewel sinks behind me and the world is painted in fierce crimson. Tall grasses ripple in the murmuring wind, clustering together and surging forwards to merge into yesterday, whilst small pebbles bathe in the dying warmth of an ancient age.

I step forwards into the cool darkness.


November 06, 2005

Wildfire

Wildfire on the weeping heath,
I walk over the weary land,
Where the wind catches at my face,
And flames dance before my eyes

Wildfire on the weeping heath,
I walk over the weary land,
As the ground begins to rise
And I think of you

We climb to the top of the hill, the wind chases my hair: the world before me seems in artificial motion. The night is cold, sharp, bitter, a seer of the future. But for now I am in love. The night is cold but clear, the stars pierce in and out of lover’s clouds: they hide nothing, only delay the wonders of the unknown beyond. The path winds upwards, around boulders covered in age-old moss, melted into the bracken. Beneath us small knarled trees contort as the spirits within lift their heads, breathing in the chill air, welcoming in the winter. Darkness lies at their feet and for me there is nothing but the moment each footstep takes me to. We pass over scorched earth, through the crags and hidden shadows. I delight in their coolness, breathe in their earthy scent, breathe in memories past even as with each step we make new ones. The slope evens out and through the darkness the standing stone emerges, a blacker shadow silhouetted against the winter night. A gust of wind rattles the branches below, their sound seeming far, far away, in another world to ours. We huddle together in a blanket and gaze down upon the small, twinkling lights of dreaming modernity. Your home lies somewhere amidst that dream…mine lies here. I’ve never belonged anywhere for long. My emotions found a home with you, but homes can be torn down and now they roam free upon eternal oceans glittering in the dark, upon seas where ships of passion find no rest upon the Islands of Mistrust. But for now I am in love. And my home is with you. I glance sideways at you. Your eyes are like burning firestones, breathed out of the Earth a million years ago to dazzle the sky like diamonds. We walk to the other side of the hill and begin winding our way down, down past the scorched earth, the boulders, and back into the wreath of trees. We run through these, further into their depths, ducking under branches and weaving through their density. You stop, laughing as you gasp for breath, at the base of an oak. The tree whispers to me as we disturb its sleep: murmurs of earthen tones carried upon the throbbing air. You lean your weight against one of the branches and it groans as you laugh. I should have listened then, but instead I put my arms around you and kiss you, and we stand like that in the middle of the woods, on one of the darkest nights of winter: strangers in a foreign land, out of time, out of place, and soon to be out of love.

Wildfire on the weeping heath,
I walk over the weary land,
As days grow old and memories past
Fade amongst the dust.


November 03, 2005

Website

www.davidfoldvari.co.uk

Seer

Darkness weeping, slowly creeping, along the rough and dusty road,

That moment before sleep, where you’re in between consciousness and sleep. Where for a few moments in time you can forfeit existence and soar free or fall to the depths of infinity.

Watching a streetlight struggle to establish itself amidst the resident darkness of the night. Wandering under its flickering glow, it burns white, blue, green, mother of pearl, beautiful, in an ethereal world of its own.

Lying in bed, at three-thirty in the morning, listening to the rain, whilst you take a smoke upstairs. Spaced out, drifting through my own mind, my body floats. I wish this moment would never end. I am. Simply being is enough.


October 31, 2005

Reflections (poem)

Reflections glow in your eyes,
Where autumn eternally burns,
And where sunsets mirror
Still pools of dreams

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