Constellation Taurus Chapter Two

An apologue of dangerous tales


The hunter

rove above the woodlands casting your russet shade

they say at the pinnacle, he cast his brazen will, unbreakable

the fire moves around, alive in his belly

celebrate the nativity, the budding flair

there’s a world poised on his finger, threshing

we heaped the logs on the fire

his blood hot eye harbouring an inferno;

the trembler awakes

a man in his antagonising spite

still fought for what he thought to be right

every attempt to pull back the reins of time

whipped his imagination dry

but time eats you, it destroys;

weep at last, for the flowering years of your prime

had long faced

forty years soon it will come

come face to face with your own stubbornness

and on that final day, dare look upon the glass

a forlorn reflection remains weeping

dragging and dripping

that old nostalgic cry

you remember when

it hauled what was left out of your chest

a glimpse of truth might find him in the best of days

but nevertheless, he will fight hard to keep

any memory of the old dream and glory alive

some elegant, angular visage came to make its visits

melted along the walls

an odour of remorse was always lingering

I’ve been thinking, I’ve been dreaming

of the sombre ghost he bedded

every night, under the subdued glow of silk sheets

ever so phlegmatic and withdrawn

some divine interference might lift his spirit

a flash of remembrance passes between them

a dance which entails considerable risks

drown out the reminder yet continue to seek

a sudden release from confinement

comes as an impeccable gleam

the white bridal veil come and lift

proposals emanated from her lips;

taurus, my love, gaze upon the mirror of your fate

I have the bluest heart under the stars;

the murmuring sea chimes with our burdens

the loose thread undulates to the thumping rhythm of music

dangling branches of elms burst into peals of laughter at the sight of grass

it was an austere, merciless hand

that battered innocence from the dedicated heart;

now words assemble at my behest

but perhaps it is too late to appeal

a change of heart seems implausible

an application for leave remains undeniable

call upon me so we might solicit our views

the implementation of our plans

sink below the surface of the waves

I deplore the words you speak

because it is the poison of your mind

and I grew tired of your negligent hands

the avenging heart wears it away

we ran crazed through the silence bearing years

and only spoke with an impediment of the past

love was great, though it returns no more

we go on, facing the same old formidable hurdles

the road brims with hindrances

and when the exertion of pressure proved too much

life became an enactment of his fantasy

a world too melancholy for us both

one must go

a single memory but remains

a sentimental tribute to the secluded loneliness;

the wood’s deep, full of magical mystery

the black wolf in us preserves our seething tenebrosity

in vain he cried upon her soft breast, lost on arms last caressed

by the sharp spears of solemn words, dispassionate tears

unforgiving as those ocean eyes, enamelled with their stormy beauty;

a young deer drank from its hunter’s hand

the love weaved inside her gold antlers, thriving

the valley of blossoming roses behind them

when the stolen hourglass mourns the blow of the horn

a deed is done, dwelling among the night lilies

there is an unparalleled mysticism in the way the moonlight covers in shimmer, the barrel of his gun, the ruby velvet dripping from her heart;

the man’s white but his tongue black and biting

the florid bouquet runs passion out, cowardice the plaited thorn he carries

wear that contagious smile like a crown

the reddest apple’s in his hand.



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