White Feather, Night Breeze

Hand-holding, shin-deep amongst a gathering of bluebells
that were tickled by the night breeze, as though fairies
were practicing ballet on their virgin leaves,
we followed directions from whispering stars
wishing us to tip-toe to the clearing where
we might soon return the sun's wakening smile.
Our ears were treated to the dawn's chorus
as night sailed away on her ghost-ship once more:
you circled my palm with tingle-inducing fingertips,
so close I felt on the other side of the world.

I still go, sometimes, most often in the Fall
when leaves char like they've been playing with fire
and when the hush of sunset beckons the night,
a darkness more tormented, marinated in wrath.
I step on the bluebells like a child of rage
and share my lament with the blanketing clouds -

My dreams of freedom or redemption are stacked
on dusty shelves in a dank corner of my heart,
in a hidden room where misleading glances
to a cracked mirror show two smoke-shrouded faces.

I sit by the faded bark carving we once etched in the clearing
and recollect on life and her supporting oddities:
weeping, beauty, the bluebells in between and I grasp
at comprehending how she becomes an end.

*****
Written, hastily, for Baby Rainbows challenge. I incorporated my five remaining challenges into this one piece. Some are direct, some more indirect. Prompts:

Unexpected love
fairies in the forest
sailing away
tip-toe through the silence
one life
ghost ship
weeping beauty
the mirror has two faces
dreams of freedom
redemption
hush
misleading eyes
white feather
tormented darkness
fairy-tale love
grieving clouds
playing with fire
other side of the world
the fall
wrath
child of rage
the suns smile
incredibly close
whispers from the stars
the hidden room
death becomes her