White night parades in this bleakening tunnel, a street without end does not lend subterfuge, a frightening chorus of stricken-down longing cannot shelter kindness or needed refuge. Persuasion is absent where torments surge late like an oft-battered dog underfoot of a saint or a rustling composure mistaken for pity, as Marlene walks soft in the Ruined City.
Classical notes sing a subtle refrain from the doorways marked yellow in snow-melted rain. A somber hope lies in her children’s heartbeats as they bend their way silent through mud in the streets.
There’s this cat in this garden, he walks without fear, it’s his garden to hunt out his prey unaware. It’s his unadorned kingdom where only he rules, it’s the laughter of ages and harbourage of doom for those who would venture inside where he reigns protected by Aegis’s buckle unchained.
Most of us try to transcend unaware from the howling birds sent from righteous good men who have now become lords in some opera absurd – shall mere kings thus here rule in blood-born torrential, as e’er they have done over sheep-like transgression beholden to none as it always was written – or shall empathy send down its blessings from Heaven like untroubled charter from not such kind gods.
Marlene leads them forward as stars light their faces and blackness looms sick in the smallest of places, a shepherd alone truly leads through this night, her flock gathers courage in softened moonlight.
A sharp uniform stands out to hail stop as Marlene steps forward bespoken in dream. The clouds move to cover the moon, the stars recede as if on command, as this soldier steps out with flashlight in hand.
“Who are you and what business do you have in this street?” He lifts his luger then lowers it slowly, for sweet Marlene’s face glowers glaring dark warning, which he cannot fathom; he feels somehow shamed.
“This is my charge. They are bound for their end, a sweet meal indeed for experimental trysts. Pathetic unfortunates captured on streets. Let us pass and continue, alone without trouble.”
And thus they do.
In requited dreams sometimes far from last breath, she gathers her five and makes off in the night. A daydream away from freedom at last, a nightmare away from yesterday’s past, a furtive look here and there tossed to the wind, Marlene guides them forward as if they will dance one last time on some altar of misery past.
Like some helium balloon flying ever and on, the night brings its prescience, eyes opened wonder, yet sleeping alas in forgotten slumber. A hummingbird flits o’er its flower, as the cat prowls his dead, yearning garden.
Twixt the crumbling walls of this now Ruined City, Marlene rises up in the cloud-covered night, and points to the train on the tracks now beside them as train-whistles deepen the night.
“Go there now, get thee free,” as Franz beckons in shadow … and the five, bowing, kissing her leather-gloved hand, mark away in the night to this wooden platform, as Marlene turns her neck around, scouring the scene, like some goddess of clouds in the night left unseen.
“There is one thing to do,” she says to the moon, as she walks down the street in the gathering gloom.
Parts 1 – 9 can be read here; https://wordsandthoughtspjs.wordpress.com/marlene/