The great broken stone of the Scots' heart shatters mine. Grey granite dispair of icy blank betrayal invades my silent vigil unrepentent. Blue in my heart and poisoned in my soul. Pinnacled basalt lust stands awash in saline tears. :: by Sarah Smiles :: no 4298681 :: Speak []
Edinburgh Elegy
{This is a rough draft (or fourth draft) of something I wrote on top of Arthur's Seat, one of the 7 hills of Edinburgh. Useful comments welcome}
I saw three stones on Arthur's Seat; one for he, and each for thee and me. In the midsummer's night, they seemed to dance, those three; one for the present, one for the past, and one for that which might be. From these three stones, I thought I might learn the path from me to thee. But they only laughed and mocked my tears with seeming delight and with glee. I sat there all night, out of fear or spite, awaiting some clue to my fate; In the hour fore dawn, the moon's rays they shone on the three stones high up on my hill. And the shadows they cast, shone upon you at last in the centre of Haymarket Square.
You were turning away from the first light of day, towards me where the stones' shadows cast. The gleam in your hair, your face pale and fair. and your arms behind you were clasped. The stones marked my shame and my writhed midnight pain at arriving back home too too late.
As the first gleams of the morning over powered the shadows of night, my love looked first north, then east, south and west. When she'd swung around once, then again to the east, there she paused almost staring at me.
I felt a rope around my heart pulling tight as it might have pulled round her neck long and fair. And I sat in my tears, caressing my fears, my heart beyond life and all care. :: by Sarah Smiles :: no 4252224 :: Speak []
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