|Angelique, The Keeper of the Cliffs - 9" statue|
She was the Keeper of the Cliffs,
an immortal pagan born of silent lightning
with an inner being of quaking storms
Newly resolute in her anguish,
She stood at the edge over churning waters
holding the Glass in her hands
He'd left her with words,
scattered syllables adrift that wept
their import on parchment worn with age
So She sealed them,
sealed them in a bottle,
that message that said He was leaving,
the note that read goodbye
Within the glass encasement,
she placed the remnants of his love
and with tears of mournful yearning
tossed it resolutely into the welcoming sea
During the span of just one day,
She lost her lover with a message,
yet stood as a woman, whole.
(Note: I first wrote this poem at age 18.
Every so often, I revise it.
I have now been working on it for 15 years.)