The Unwritten Chapter (Lazarus Continued)

She is the unwritten chapter,
The blank pages of the book
Staring back at me,
With a great promise of a future old and yellow and wrinkled
The story of great romance,
Hidden in its plain bosom

The back pages are stained,
With the memories and battle scars of the past
Rushing blue like the rushing waters of a river of dreams,
Ebbing red like blood let drop by drop
Running through the tome,
Like a tapestry of pathos and ethos

Each day the words come more into focus,
Closer to being etched unto antiquity
Chronicling warmth and clarity,
And the evolution of a human soul
Preserved as a foundation,
Upon which new chapters may yet be built

She is the unwritten chapter,
The untold story
Nor oracle nor providence can yet contemplate,
The wonders or hurdles that lie ahead
For she is the unwritten chapter,
Still forming in my head

Lazarus

A young boy scours a crowd of faces with eager anticipation,
Awaiting the bright smile of a childhood crush
Sharing stolen moments,
And a lack of apprehension
She was the one that opened the lock,
And let the flood gates start
The one that came first,
And for long haunted his heart

A teenager exploring,
Finds new meaning in the closest of friends
Apprehensive of his limits,
And frightened by where possibility ends
He discovers new things in the world,
And many too in himself
He leaves behind a rocky path,
And many lessons unlearned on the shelf

A young man looking to find himself,
Losing his heart in the most random of meetings
Doomed by his immaturity,
And plagued by his fantasy of eros fleeting
In the right place,
At the wrong time
He played the clown,
But turned into a mime

A momentarily serendipitous mating of souls,
In a passion that burns him hot
Covered in the ash that remains,
His heart fused like wrought
Blackened and villainised,
A fall from grace
Surrounded by chiding reminders,
Of his “rightful” place

A man sitting on a bench,
Staring ahead at a path unseen
Feeling the inviting breeze,
From a yet undiscovered scene
Content in his present,
Ever mindful of his past
He knows not how much longer,
This great weather will last

But he remains there yet,
Not begrudging a soul
Not the rocky crag that led him here,
Not the valley that burnt his soles
There was but one path to take,
That could lead him to this place
Where he stops and stares a while,
At the beauty of her face

Lazarus