The Mystery

Image credit: Zolotareva Elina/Shutterstock.com

Image credit: Zolotareva Elina/Shutterstock.com

I could not capture
the mystery
It was too deeply etched
on a face too hidden from full view
Those days we often laughed
and dreamt wild dreams
that only youth would dare to dream
And in those days I saw her
because only then would courage allow
a momentary glimpse
of the truly strange

I never knew if deep within
that mystery lay promise or fear
beauty or bestiality
I only saw that life was stranger
than my lessons had allowed
She may have been a sprite
or a trickster playing games
but whatever she was
I could not know her true

Years on but a memory
and one so ephemeral at times
I would believe if you told me
she was but a dream and I
a strange and fanciful child
had simply wanted to believe
But then I see her memory waft
up to an older and more cautious mind
and feel a primal fear
little recognised in youth
but which makes me shudder
in age

(c) Helen Valentina 2016

About helenvalentina

Like most people, I have a number of sides to me. The most interesting one probably emerges through my writing, hence this blog. I love to read, and also to write, and so this is a way to share both.
This entry was posted in Air, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Mystery

  1. You obviously knew my first wife.

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