IN SEARCH OF LOVE, by Ann Wilmer-Lasky
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IN SEARCH OF LOVE, by Ann Wilmer-Lasky.

Good Castleweaver...
She begged my mercy
as I stood,
her life held in my hand,
my hand held at her throat,
and I laughed
and cried.
She reminded me so much
of the fair Elysa.
For a moment,
as I held aloft
the fatal blow,
my concentration broke
on better days,
on reflections,
on the possibilities
of love and hope,
and of the aspirations
of the young,
the vulnerable at heart
and wandered to
what might have been...

...idyllic days
of castle walls replete
with colours bright
and visions bold---
a son and heir
to pass my cherished magic
on through ageless ages;
a daughter fair
to bond eternal
the beauty of my own and only,
true love and lover,
the blessed Elysa...

...Elysa,
how in dreams
I have called upon that name,
when in a dream's foul lie
she would come to me---
full-breasted
sweet lips parted,
arms outstretched
to welcome my embrace.
The lust, the aching,
the crest of love-swept urging,
the fading retreat of all less holy
of the bitter culmination of the quest;
the hurt...

the unrequited longing,
the waking torture,
the evil dream's cruel hoax
upon my wounded bosom,
wounded to the quick and hurting,

always the hurting,
and to assuage the hurting,
the hurting.

Other souls must pay,
must suffer anguish,
join in my unmitigated pain,
appease my tortured soul
with screams
and cries
and futile supplications;
apply a balm of blood to ease
the festered sores of my rejection.

And,
as I come full circle,
awake to find the bludgeon
in my hand
upraised
to strike the blow
to calm my rage,
I gaze
upon the fairest eyes of blue
I've seen since last
I gazed into the face of my Elysa;

I see the cruel derision,
the snarling lips upturned
to mock my courting,
and I can but bring the cudgel down,
appease the twisted gut inside
that begs release,
release the tension that must build
'til next I roam these woods,
again
in search
of love.

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