it must have been a dream

I followed her through that garden gate

a lonely path winding through the darkened wood

away from the ball

I began to follow it

I’m not sure what compelled me

certainly apparitions are evil – as all ghosts are

spirits trapped between death and eternity

what good could they conjur

yet I had left a most joyous fellowship

–

I could still hear the music fading behind me

those partners engaged in their midnight revels

bounding and twirling in the most romantic of fashions

to rhythms so dynamically fluid

to melodious strains both joyous and sad

each swelling chord more beautiful than the last

dancers dipping and spinning and leaping and swooning

–

so why had this woman been alone

why did she leave the others

and why should I be so deeply drawn towards her

more and more with each step away from the garden

what was it

her smile?

there had been an intoxicating serenity about her

the way she had been blissfully content in her own private solitude

surrounded by an army of friends

and yet her world was bittersweet loneliness

–

what foolishness must have drove me on

how could i fit into such a world

the living are not meant for the dead

and should her serenity be her solitude

her singularity her power

then i would surely dash it all to pieces

should i her presence dare to grace

that treasure making her compelling

meant distance ought my only hope to be

if I should ever love her

~j.d.schofield