Saturday 18 February 2012

One night near the Citadel of dreams....

I knew it was a dream because I was wearing wellington boots.

I never wear..

(You were dressed in jeans)

I carried you to the island on my back, wading through the clear water.

On the island there was just a ruin of a ruin, but as we explored rooms were added, different floors, windows that looked across the inlet to an ancient citadel.

We were entranced by the discovery and didn’t see the sea approach until we saw that it was too late; the island was cut off and we would have to stay the night.

It was an old house, full of books and games and scientific instruments from a long forgotten past but all in our language not that of the land around.

There was a madness of intent about you; each thing became a plaything in your hands as you opened, closed, opened again.

Was it nerves?

There were stacks of games, some almost antique, I searched for the ones to play with you and night came.

The lights on the citadel shone across the bay and we watched from an open window.

We were not alone, others had chosen this as their refuge and they started to leave the shadows and lay down to sleep.

We were not frightened, but it no longer seemed to be our home.


Anonymous said...

traces of mervyn peake again.
gothic and romantic,
maybe not the wellies though.....

popps said...

Anonymous said...

i have lots of them
if it wasnt for my wellies......