Beautiful. Beautiful? Why beautiful? Nothing here is beautiful. Beauty was a remembrance, a sham, an illusion set to torment. I knew beauty, but she is gone. Nothing left but a failing shell.
The whisper, the cry, the anthem. The words they repeat inside their heads. Over and over, they cry for help. The torment plays its game with the hundred helpless souls. They gaze at the passersby and plead with their eyes. The doors remain locked, and the bystanders stand and try not to watch. The cries, they echo throughout the night.
The night it hung and covered and clung. It crept and whispered and teased. The night it took away the joy of the day, and leaving, it left none behind. Like a void on the edge of a pit, I felt nothing and saw nothing and had nothing within my grasp.
The halls they stand and stare and stay. Stoic and lifeless and filled with remorse. The halls they depress; the halls they repress; the halls they hold the walls, the walls that cage them in.
I wanted some words, something to put on my walls. The walls that cage, the walls that hold, the walls that keep my void in check. I wanted beauty; beauty is in words. Words are all that the void cannot take. A rhyme, a story, a poem, a quote. Anything to block out those terrible walls.
The keepers they smile; sometimes they laugh. They talk and chatter and jabber and gossip. They decorate the walls; they dress up the halls. They cover the dark with ill-fitted clothes. The black, it cannot be hid.
The black cannot leave. It lives and it grows. It fills the pit and spills from the void. The black, it cannot be taken away. I watch it and it surrounds me. I tried to escape, but no exit exists. I found my words, they fit with the theme. The walls they are diminished.
There upon his room it hung, an embellished quote and frame. The walls, they were hung with hearts and love. The keepers watched and chittered and smiled, but darted their eyes and knotted their brows. The quote, there it hung and looked from the wall. A reminder and anthem and creed. He read it and smiled and turned back to his wall. His Valentine sleeping beside.
The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things lived on; and so did I.
~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"
Happy Valentine's Day!