the curtain, thick, heavy tapestry
that it was, hangs shorn
like a bridal veil, a shroud.
rent from floor to ceiling,
it hangs listless on its wooden rod,
obsolete now, useless.
outside is the still greyness
of afternoon after rain.
the world is hushed yet,
as if anticipating another scene.
but existence goes on,
somehow. it must.
i bolt the shutters tight;
can’t let the damp sink in.
these four walls are all
i’ve ever known as mine,
though the plaster’s crumbled
and the bowed ribs show through.
i pace barefoot across the floor —
it’s rough and splintered,
but hardened my feet like leather.
i’ve worn a groove down
and don’t feel a thing.
the silence is stifling,
but the voices will start
soon enough again.
they never stay away
as long as i would wish.
but there — was that a sound?
no, surely not.
a rat, at the most.
no one has ever visited.
not once. not now.
yet, there it is again —
on the door, yes, surely
a knock. gentle, but firm.
and again it comes.
wh-who is it?
my voice is a croaking
whisper, unused to use.
Light!
a merry voice, rich, deep.
light? what could he mean?
it was a he, no mistaking.
but what type of name
was light? why mock me?
i am in no need of light, sir.
i am quite used to the dark.
there, that should show him.
yes, i know! came the voice.
how dare he? go away! i shrieked.
but then came another knock.
ugh, who do you think you are?
Love!
love? no one had ever spoken
kindly to me, let alone love.
a thrill went through my veins,
but i held myself quiet.
he would not fool me.
still, i stepped closer
to the door, thinking
i could catch a glimpse
through the knothole.
perhaps he was dangerous.
i don’t believe in love.
how can i believe something
i’ve never seen, never known?
if you opened the door,
you would see, and know.
and you might steal everything
i have left. wretched as it is.
decrepit though it seems,
it’s all i’ve ever known.
how can i give that up
for a madman outside
with a voice like thunder
and laughter? i won’t. i won’t!
go away! i cried, tears
welling in my eyes despite
my iron self-control.
i leaned my head against
the door, biting my lips
so the sobs couldn’t escape.
but he knocked again.
i could see thin shafts
of light streaming
through the cracked wood
under my fingers.
i could almost feel
the passion reverberating
through the boards.
what mystery is this?
who’s there? i whispered
afraid of what he might
say, yet longing to hear.
Life! he whispered back,
in a tone strangely wild yet calm.
life? life? how could he say
such a thing when i lived
in death itself? how could life
dare to stand outside
knocking incessantly
until i went mad? enraged
i flung open the door —
and then i saw him.
and i understood.
I like this a lot. :)