The White Waif of Wimbledy

Eve has fallen; 

The sky is a gaping hole, 

The universe unclad; 

Its eyes are staring down 

Their dismal light, 

Haunting the earth 

With each eerie glance. 

A great many things 

Have haunted steps; 

Our wood is walked 

By one alone; 

A white waif-woman 

With eyes filled 

Of silken snow. 

The mark of her foot 

Made once, then gone; 

Cold maiden-tears, 

So gracefully cursed; 

Lovely and cruel 

Are the snow clouds, 

Star-drops of grief. 

The night’s inky cloak 

Veils steps unenchanted; 

A forbidden encounter, 

Like sun and stars 

In the same marbled sky; 

Unreal, yet imagined, 

So perhaps not so. 

The chime sounds, 

The watchman of night; 

The forest disturbed 

Is haunted, enchanted, 

The spirits decide; 

They hide, I descend 

Still further. 

The wood whistles 

Its ghastly song; 

Shadows blind me, 

The covers of men 

And watchful specters, 

Peering through flesh 

At their kin. 

Night hurls forth, 

Compels my footsteps 

Faster, faster— 

Yet the path lingers still; 

Time does not stop 

For idle dust 

Or mortal souls. 

And suddenly, 

How clear is the wood 

In the ivory glade; 

At journey’send 

I wait expectant, 

For to unfold 

What has not yet. 

And then, I see 

The small, white void 

Of dismal light 

Like a fallen star, 

In want of its glory 

Lost in descent, 

Remains of what was. 

A single step 

Irreversibly forward; 

Time and reason 

Loose their chains, 

And in my soul 

I am closer still, 

If just for now. 

I reach out 

To what cannot be felt; 

And life convenes 

In a single moment, 

So to witness 

Fleeting eternity 

In one embrace. 

Reality hastens 

To absent the path 

Of this vacancy 

In time and space; 

The star is restored 

To its throne 

Above the sun. 

I fall— 

It cannot contain, 

What has no place 

For idle dust 

And mortal souls; 

I turn once, 

And she is gone. 

I upward gaze; 

The stars linger, 

As if to claim 

Some part of the sky 

For their own; 

But they fade, 

As everything does. 

Memory leaves me 

To wander home; 

What is becomes 

What once was, 

Fallen stars 

Return our souls 

To the sky. 

Author: Esme Homenchuk

Esme is a high school student planning on going to college this coming spring. She lives in Sarasota, Florida with her mom, younger sister, and two cats. She is passionate about art, music, and writing. She likes to live her life poetically and believes artistic expression is the key to nourishing the soul.

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