Alastor Part 1

Alastor rests upon a statue in his deep mourning

A maiden, it was called Aurora for she conjured images of morning

Majestic fawn her chryselephantine form cold beneath his touch

The pool beneath caught his every fears in lachrymose rush

His teary eyes hazy with droplets of fear 

Death took his father and his mother was at the cusp of Hades’ lair

Sleepwalking in oblivion beside death’s dark door

 Her gullible hands on the knob, hypnotized by its ever-enticing lure

Alastor raised from Aurora in spite of maternal images it conjured

And walked aimlessly forth

Through the town’s buildings stores and court

The thick pall of cloudy thoughts akin to the Oort…

Cloud shrouding the now non-existent sun of his whirling world

Dusk has fallen and Alastor still walked

His solitude deepening with each step

In this the city, as silent as death

He stepped as he wept, the melancholy increased exponentially yet

Grief tied around his neck controlling him like a marionette

Until deep into the night he saw an old woman

Her head down, Alastor, puzzled, looked closer to rule out illusions

Half expecting the image to dissolve from his sight by diffusion

No woman would venture in the lonesome outskirts this time of night

Especially in clothes so brilliant white

As He approached slowly, a queer feeling overwhelmed 

As if something vile usurped normalcy, and was now at the helm

The old woman looked like a wraith in her white 

Still keeping her head bowed

Blinking hard "I am not mad!" Alastor silently avowed

Then suddenly the spectral woman raised her hand, then the other

Then she raised her head and Alastor saw a face which had him bothered

Though she should be a thousand miles away it was his dying mother!

Reviews

[A. Amos]

This was piece shows the genius writer in you my friend...simply amazing!

[Rocans]

Thanks Amos. I appreciate it.

[Skai Rain]

This is so sad and beautiful. A wonderful work. Thank you for sharing.

[Rocans]

Thanks Brit

[icelandicblue]

I feel the astral projection of love in this piece. She is crossing time and place to see her son. It's beautiful and sad. I loved this description:

Her gullible hands on the knob, hypnotized by its ever-enticing lure

Death can be like that.