By terry
Date: 30 October 2000
One Pure Heart
The door creaked open an inch at a time
Hinges rusted tight squealed their anguish at being disturbed
As dull maroon flakes drifted to the old warped floor.
And once again, he wondered why he was here.
He was above this childish game if chicken
Proposed an hour ago when the drinks had been flowing deep
And urban legends were being passed around like candy to the eager imagination of children
Children like him; unaware
So here he was
Pushing open a door that supposedly had been sealed 66 years ago
With holy water and the blood from a virgin’s cycle.
And if he looked close
Were those muddy colored stains around the doorframe real?
Could it be?
The one thing he did know in his heart was this
Legends became that because of a certain truth
A truth that cannot be denied, even by non-belief.
The door stopped, three quarters open, with a dusty odor pouring out
But he could swear there was an undercurrent
Lilac and Myrrh, with a hint of forest moss and dew
And as he breathed deeper, the odor grew, filling his senses
Filling his mind in a way he had never felt before.
So leaving all doubt right there at the entrance
He pushed inside, intent on finding the secret of this place
His mind beginning to fill with smoke, the child left behind.
And as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he looked around
Finding his eyes and feet drawn to a fireplace
While in his mind he heard the crackling of a fire
Embers popping as the gases escaped into the night
And his eyes trailed up to a portrait of a lady
With flowing chestnut hair, and green eyes that bored right into his soul
While in his mind he hears echoes of sweet laughter
And singing; sounds of such beauty his chin fell open as his eyes glazed over.
And beneath her portrait was an inscription
‘Pure of heart, pure of soul, only love can make me whole.’
And so enthralled with the voice in his head, he almost missed the weight on his shoulder
Real, not real, there, not there, he was so lost now that he could never swear to either.
And as the hand trailed down his arm, he turned
And faced his vision.
And oh, God was she beautiful
Dressed in an off the shoulder ball gown so old he could only guess at the age.
But it mattered little, as his arms rose in an embrace he had dreamed of his entire life.
Where every inch of her body was like liquid, flowing to his form
And even though it was in his mind to rain kisses on her milky white shoulder,
It was his neck that was tilted, and her lips that were rasping like sandpaper on his skin
And he felt his own lips glaze her shoulder it caused him to shudder, deeply
And in that moment, when her teeth broke flesh he was lost in the delicious pain
Wanting…No needing her to kiss deeper and deeper to his very core.
And again, in his head he heard her sweet laughter and laughed with her
From the gut
For what is love if you are not willing to give all, he though with a smile
And so with a pure love, and a pure soul.
She was made whole
But broken in a way she never expected.
For this one had been a lover of worth
And it was with her tear-wetted cheeks that she bent and kissed him one last time.
And strode through the door into the sweet dark night.
Back to the Heart-on-Sleeve Corner