Reflection

Meaning slips away

Symbols mean nothing

The needle makes pointless strokes

Upon a golden face.

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Love fades through a window

Dwindling on the edge of a knife

Broken, silver pieces collected—its shimmer gone

The wounded knife severs one last bond.

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Walking away from Eden

So bravely these young soldiers march

Hiding deep scars that no bullet made

Crying out to only their ghosts.

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Her young face, childlike, yet so perceptive

Bright eyes twinkle, piercing him with innocence

Hands clutch the aletheometer; bring the fruit to his lips

Before they clumsily kiss, so new to this ancient feeling.

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His fierce eyes, deepening with so much meaning

The lion wins over the lamb, common sense over chaos

One hand carrying only eight digits, the other holding the knife high

Leading them through death and back.

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Sitting in the Botanic Garden

Midsummer’s Day, only them alone

With their souls, searching for their mates

Through the pain, the years…the forgetful mind.

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It is in this moment

Their daemons meet and touch—

For the briefest of seconds

Kirjava nestles close to this reflection of Pantalaimon.