Blanc (Blessèd White Tear)




 Title art by Ermis Nikolaidis. Click image to visit his studio.



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Time stood still
Only the incessant thump of my heartbeat broke the silence
I felt like a child
In the face of a giant
Having crossed the wild
I had learned from nature all about the value of defiance


Life had been exact in science
Well mapped out and logical
Taught the way to turn and run when overcoming obstacles
Blindfolded and spun
Had felt obliged to come undone
It seemed to me the world had not begun
That I was stalled
A foolish man with no real plan
And no real fighting cause
At least, not one worth dying for


Appeared my race was run
Nothing left worth striving for
Disposable as income
Expendable as a bendable sword
Trending towards my lamentable flaws
Venturing forth with my head at half mast
And one foot very much entrenched in the past
I let out a gasp
Unremarkably laboured
Within which I asked to be favoured


My heart lay in fragments before me
Pieces of yesterdays
Viciously swept away
Timidly crept away
Wept my dismay
Blinded by light
Yet, caressed by the shade
Beneath the oldest, wisest tree my weathered eyes could find
Some place magic
Some place faraway


One solitary teardrop
Was all I could muster
It glistened in a mane of flaxen braid
Displaced of lustre
Suddenly, I felt the thrust
Of something brave
Of something just
A single wave
Of diamond cusp
A breath away
Engraved in rust


No shallow grave awaiting
Under patient gaze of Raven
Leading me to some place safe
A sanctuary
A haven
Life had been a thankless task
Yet, these clear waters bled dead calm
I felt like a child
In his grandmother’s arms
I felt loved
In that moment
Felt guarded


Time stood still
Only the incessant thump of my heartbeat undeparted
Uncharted waters before me
I felt like a child
At the reins of a giant
My wide eyes then darted
To nature’s defiance
And bled every tether to each next alliance
The roots of the tree
Were just as magic as presumed to be
One solitary teardrop
Had impressed majestic jubilee
Beneath the oldest, wisest tree reflective eyes could find
We wept a crimson river
Blessèd white.






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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