Hey guys! This particular poem is one for a university class of mine. Thought I might run it by you guys first before giving it over to my class mates and tutor to look over. I am using a bit of an experiential design here. The piece is meant to be reminiscent of place and space, ‘space’ in this aspect being my opinion of a place, or, in the case of the poem, a person. Please feel free to comment if you believe that there is something wrong with either the consistency or any other aspect!
I appreciate you taking the time to read.
Also, there are a couple of sexual references and some profanity in the piece. Thought I should mention that in case I receive some very young viewers! 😀
Waiting I was for twenty six years to find her,
and wonder I do when I think
together four years was not enough.
Is it greed that floods my sensors,
or is it more of something different
that is yet to be mentioned here?
General Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo
proclaimed that he be worthy
when fell upon his sword he did.
An answer I am yet to find
when question I do my worthiness
to hold onto the memory
of the woman I called my home,
for every day her voice I hear
on moments when soundlessness be not abandoned.
‘When we lay our heads down upon plush pillows,
our hearts begin to beat slower.
We succumb to the tiring sensation
that runs throughout our systems,
and as we close our eyes and let sleep take us,
promise me, my darling,
in the quiet of your fantasies,
you will have hallucinations
of my undying embrace.
This imprisonment is necessary,
for in our dreams we shall meet,
as we sleep under the cover of darkness
that has drowned out the day,
the dead of night rapping at our windows
as we soundlessly dream.
Although we are separated
by the immense oceans of time
that stretch out across the universe,
the nexus between us is most strongest
when our consciousness has been denied.
In this world we are bound not
by the limitations of the living,
who be impaired by lack of vision.
During our dream state we can see ourselves
for who we truly are in the land of the ancient spirits.
Lead you I will, through your sleep
until the two of us are together,
right where we eternally belong.
When around you I’m not,
let love be your guide.
I am in the weather that surrounds you;
my feelings are the winds
drifting across your features;
my thoughts are in the rain that hangs in the air,
and by the end you shall be mine,
as destined you are to be.
Every time you close your eyes it’s me you glimmer
because, in your memories I am alive,
for love like ours lasts more than forever,
it is time itself, and when meet again we do tonight
in your unconscious mind,
you have my permission to run your sweet
fingers through every strand of my hair.
Kiss me with your lips
that be stained with eternal love,
from which I have digested greatly
the affection of my paramour,
and happily drink your love I will,
just as you have drunk mine.
Eat your fill of my feelings
prepared on this platter,
for like numbers, my passion is never ending,
and just when you cannot stomach no more
I will kiss you awake
and tomorrow we can begin anew.’
Spoken are these words few
across the veil of serene passing,
and listen do I to the garrulous tongue
of my beloved as her whisper hangs on the wind,
for love that be true can be halted not
by even the dispersions of sacrilege.
Bound is fidelity’s chalice of mine
that points towards true north,
and when cometh my end does
meet her, my lady, shall I
in the city of angels that floats on the wings
of faith, truth and love.
A time there was once though
when different her emotions were,
and it was I who sacrificed his affection
in order to ensnare the complete attention
of the future residence my heart
longed to live within.
No problem have I ever with saying ‘I love you’
when such words are meant, although I believe
she did once resent such terminology.
Beneath her bench she did keep a voodoo doll
in the shape of any man who charmed her heart,
and stab the thing repeatedly she would
with a needle of solid silver
until a man fell out of fixation with her.
This attitude of hers was an unnecessary one;
a burden upon my soul that seldom feels rejection.
Resent these tactics I did,
knowing how not I would be felled
by such malicious crimes against my romance,
and as I whispered into her ‘all will be alright’,
her bated breath was then released
and she did simply breathe again
in unison with the beating of my palpitating heart.
So if I dream of thee this night,
waketh me not from slumber,
for the elements of but brick and timber
represent not the corporeal visage
of my heart’s desire,
and my one affliction.
My mortal coils bound
by the elixir of her good fortune
offers a defensive reprieve
from the bed of loneliness,
wishing not to sleep beneath the duvet
of such misfortune.
But sometimes this be not enough,
and the phone I ring to have a conversation
with the unforgotten dead.
The ghost of my one true love
is recorded on a loop,
that shall proceed to play for an infinitude,
for the immortal carrier of her voice time is.
I listen with an empowered intent,
to hear my heart’s home say the last goodbye
we were eternally denied.
Shall not shed a tear I will,
but joy instead will be that which erupts
across my features,
for the unwritten tale of our affection
is a story worth consideration
in the halls of unequalled passion.
Not is my permanent place of residence
my home. Protection it does indeed provide,
like a barrier between worlds,
but love and warmth is given not
by the walls of this establishment.
My homesickness felt is not for this construction,
but the home that hath occupy
this residence once with me.
The home that which contains
my palpitating muscle
of passionate throes
alas is a stationary object not,
but a ravishing creature
who hath captured me
with an unending ease.
Inanimate is not my home,
her roof that which shelters me
being not a mass of tiles
but hair, each strand belonging
in its own place upon
the herbal scented features
of her head, burning
like an out of control grass fire
that rampages across the land.
Cement and brick her flesh is not,
but gentle to the touch
of my fine fingers as I caress
a form of physical magnificence
quite like no other,
my home having taken legitimately
the crown of purest gorgeousness
from the head of Aphrodite,
being bestowed this grateful honour
on the orders of a winged angel,
the Goddess of love and beauty
having for the first time
to stand in the shadows
of my beloved’s figure.
Like a painting hung upon the wall,
her body be the canvas
of such fruitful expenditure.
A rose that be as dark as night
is etched upon her shoulder left,
whilst a sentence strung from words writ
beneath the surface of her flesh
is accumulated on the opposing side;
Je n’ai l’amour de soi et j’adore ca.
A symbol of nefarious intent
in the form of a religious cross
that be hung inappropriately,
drawn in the darkest colour imaginable
that be thick like it is filthy
is painted ever so delicately
across the sumptuous design of her back.
The opposite to this artwork
is, ironically, on the other side,
a slender angel in an ink of blue
hangs like a chandelier
between the ample peaks of her chest,
the wings of this here blessed creature
resting upon thy lady’s bosom’s mantel.
An artist, who must have perspired dangerously
during the birth of the snake
that worms its way around my lady’s lower regions
would have begun the piece of work
where the tail lies beneath the button
in her body’s centre.
Its form slithers towards that which
shall not be mentioned yet,
the tongue of this venomous reptile
resting but an inch above Venus’s mound.
A fire breathing serpent,
quite unlike the creature writ
in the stanza prior,
rests its inflamed features
upon the leg of the woman I call home,
a ring of fire burning
around the body of this wretched beast.
Felt not is pain by a house that is built,
but when born, a different story this is,
however, never ought a tale such as this
be written upon the page again.
A tear, crystalline in appearance
will roll across the flawless features
of the woman I have here regaled,
when consumed with bereavement
her gorgeous soul unfortunately suffers
once the deliverance of offensive villainy
unto her life of beauty is betided.
But she be strong in contrast
with what may be believed,
and if flirt too much did a man
unworthy of her consideration,
apply she would mascara to his angry eyes
and to his chapped lips would be gloss
as she proclaimed with a smile
‘now you be my little bitch!’
If, like a volcano, a commotion did erupt,
and enter did I the room where explode the violence had,
only to find one such person beaten up upon the floor,
‘what the fuck have happen here?’
would be the words bestowed from me,
before being told, simplistically;
‘like this it did happen –
started it he did, and it be I who ended it.’
The lights that illuminate
dark passages on a cold winter’s night
are her cayenne flavoured eyes, shining brighter
than the stars orbiting our atmosphere
that need not switching on,
for always do they exceed
all else that radiates this world
in glowing fixtures.
The chimney is connected not
atop her frame, but to her mouth,
the slender stick of smouldering ash
permeating the world around her
with its obnoxious fumes.
The repugnant flavour of the smoke,
once cycled through her lungs,
has become a scent so sweet,
one could not imagine it was ever so brutal to behold.
Like oxygen is this fragranced cloud
to her, the scented smoke
bringing a smile to those lips that be reminiscent
of the flames she bathes in.
Her cigarette could spontaneously erupt
and paint the effigy of a blazing inferno
that spans her entire body,
and she would shrug and say with bated breath,
‘had to happen sometime.’
Unlike a house belonging
to the land, rooted in place
and grown from the imagination
of workmen’s fingers,
like the seedling of a growing flower,
who speakth only with the
creaking of wood
hanging above me in the ceiling,
its choice in words
reaching my ears on nights
when the wind blows thickest,
different is the speech postulated
from the lips of my humble home.
Opinionated is she,
with an intellect that defies
all known comprehension,
the sounds that roll off her tongue
being not sounds at all,
but words, that need not deciphering
as I listen with an avid ear
to the harmonic gestures
of a musical score
that ought never to be unheard.
The words that fall from thy mouth
match those which be produced
by the lady from my dreams incarnate,
whose words, spoken in an accent untraceable
are concocted by rosy lips of a pink hue
which long, like a flower in the meadow
to be plucked, oh so courteously.
‘You’re the air I breathe,
you’re the sword I seethe,
you’re everything I know.
You’re the destination I will go
to hold onto you my king.’
‘You’re my diamond ring,
you’re my lighthouse in the harbour.
You are the future mother
of my children, my loving queen,
the only one who makes me feel like a human being.’
Although not is meaning lost to thy words spoken,
come a time does on occasion
when what be said fails to clarify
the feelings found within,
and it is on rare occasion such as this
that the touch of flesh against flesh
will say more than what could ever be spoken aloud.
An entryway there be not of conventional design
to touch the soul within her castle’s keep,
for there be no moat to cross
and there be no palace guard.
But permission is ever only granted
to those deserving of her patronage,
the fire that burns within touched only
by the hands of those with just merit
who hath captivated her unruly passion.
Ease not my way through the front door
for there be no knob to turn,
but a buckle that needs undoing
to reveal a pathway to a dungeon
of incomprehensible delights,
the likes of which I cannot help
but lust to plunder.
Upon the first time of this moment transpiring
I remember what sprang to mind, the thoughts,
and I said to myself with gusto great;
‘I shall not shield my eyes,
for the morbid curiosity of mine
is a boundless ocean,
that longs to explore the farthest reaches
of my destined home,
with regions contained across all surfaces
yet to be named by man,
and if I may be so bold
to ask the owner of this here promise land
a question, with regards to whether
I can be the explorer to put a name
to these areas of lustrous pleasure
and great beauty, when exploring
not just her lower most features,
but the mountain ranges of her torso.’
Now, that it be time for a conclusion
to be writ upon the page,
it can be said with a heart, heavy with burden,
that ‘death is when the darkness takes you,
belittled by the black of night.
I don’t want to feel this first before I die,
I want to feel you instead,
for you are oh so hot like a burning bush,
the embers of your effigy
captivating me with a raw ecstasy of emotion
unlike any that I have inhaled before,
and known it should throughout the land
that separate we shall not,
for, unequivocally, there be no death in love.’
SYNPOPSIS: A piece about the incredibly powerful emotions a man feels for no woman in particular, and the confession that is to be supplied to this fortunate, or rather unfortunate as the case may be, woman.
There is a thin blue mist slowly drifting over this incorruptibly fair city,
which is settling in after the departure of the rainbow which was so pretty.
There is a faint pool of dried blood located down on the east highway,
relinquished from the body of the young lover who died yesterday;
yet another casualty of love that is constantly under restoration,
whose parents are forced to endure a powerful, emotional explanation.
This young man never told the woman that he loved how he felt in his heart
and instead of bringing two people together it has torn them apart.
I do not ever in this life of mine want this unfortunate event to happen to me,
which is why I write this poem for you; to the woman of unimaginable beauty.
I must warn you however that I am a weary and untalented poet,
who will never be as great as Shakespeare and his irresistible love sonnets.
Nevertheless, if I could find the words to describe the beauty of your face,
what a talented romantic I would be within the so called ‘human race.’
Whenever I lay eyes on you a chill rushes through me that penetrates right down to the bone,
I have decided that from this moment on I do not wish to spend this life of mine alone.
For deep within this body of mine I feel such incredibly strong feelings for you inside.
I write this poem to avoid confessing to you my strong feelings, a task I have not tried.
My dreams may seem ludicrous and these words I use may seem completely deranged,
I only hope that in the very near future my luck will begin to change.
My life first began the moment you said my name and I heard your amazing voice,
for me; an in-valid, to experience this, you made a sacrificial choice.
I wish that one brief moment we shared together I could eventually rewind
and admit to you my true feelings that are trapped within the confines of my mind.
Nevertheless, this could never take place, for I could never take your rejection,
wishing to instead be granted all of your love, grace, support and real affection.
I dream about you every night however, and I know I will do so again
because you are without a shadow of a doubt, my one and only piece of Heaven.
But wishes, they are all of them like dreams and they do not always occur
and in ten years time your memory of me will be no more than a blur.
They say the heart is the strongest muscle in all the body, but for me this cannot be true,
for if it were so I am certain I would have the heart to share all of my feelings with you.
You may ask why I’m infatuated with you; it is because you are different from the rest,
the same way, for lack of a better metaphor, denim dreams are different to a denim vest.
I may of course seem incredibly foolish, or perhaps even unfathomably stupid;
my excuse? I have been shot, by that mischievous little angel known as Cupid.
I would like to add, you are beautiful. No matter whether you’re covered in make-up or in a mess,
your hair, arms, legs and breasts, along with your vagina and clitoris; all of it, I wish to caress.
Of course, if you permit me, allow me to add I believe I love you very much.
Remember, you are never alone, your beautifully warm body I wish to touch.
I no longer in this life time want to keep my heart trapped within an internal cage.
In all honesty, I want to make sweet love to you, and have your body as my stage.
I wish to meet both of your parents, and confess to your father and mother,
that my dream is to always and forever be your one and only lover.
I wish to spend my life with you, not with all of the other billions of women.
I rehearse this line in my mind now as to repeat it in the future again.
I’ll continue to pour out my heart and soul and state ‘wherever you are, that’s where I’ll go.
Where that is exactly, whether it be now or in the distant future I do not know,
but wherever this specific location in time is, that’s where I’ll be,
for you will always continue to on every level ravish me.’
If I must be the author of my own destiny, I wish to write it with you,
for no woman could take your place and no one else in the world could ever make do.
In-between the two of us I feel a remarkably romantic connection,
that is fueled, controlled and inspired by my own immeasurably strong passion.
I wish however that I had the nerve to verbally convey these emotions when I speak,
which is why it pains me to realise that when around you my spirit becomes so weak.
Around you my tongue becomes so tied and twisted and my heart begins to flutter,
and all the words I wish to say to you fail to appear as I choke and stutter.
But in my heart I know I need to get over this for without you I am eternally blue
and all I wish to say is; ‘take those lips and place them on my own as I wrap my arms around you.’
There is no other life form in this universe I could ever appreciate more,
everything that makes you who you are today is without a doubt worth fighting for.
This would explain why I always dream of you being close to me; being just so near
on a day when the scorching sun is out and the skies are just so crystal clear.
On this day I would ask; ‘do you want and need me the way I want and need you; lover of whom I lust,’
and you would politely reply to me ‘young man, you have a huge heart, but honestly, what’s the rush?’
If I were to continue to speak and to persist with my words, I believe you would say, ‘boy, you talk a little too much.
I can understand your love and affection for me, but it’s obvious, you’ve been corrupted by an insatiable crush.’
But even such words could not hinder these feelings, for I truly love you without a doubt.
Unfortunately, I always will, for you are the one woman I cannot live without.
I no longer want to be a stranger, no; I want to eternally be yours.
If you were indeed a football team you would constantly receive a perfect score.
You have a blessed halo hovering above your head and a devil upon your shoulder.
If I did not enjoy such ravishing qualities I would not long to be your true lover.
This is not all that I want however, wishing to be with you through all the days of your life,
to have and to hold you for all eternity as the mother of my children and my wife.
With this said, may I continue to add, how can I live without you near?
Moreover, how can I truly live when that voice of yours I cannot hear?
Furthermore, at the conclusion of this verse, I wish for you to see me for who I am;
I may be a romantically challenged individual, but I am a loving man.
At the end of this poem I would like to conclude on a far more romantic note,
one which is far more ravishingly extraordinary than what I previously wrote.
With that said, I would like to state, you look more divine than divine, and more sexy than sumptuous,
I can say without a flickering shadow of a doubt that you are incredibly delicious.
Your eyes, they are like two diamonds, shining on a cool, mid summer’s night
filling up my hunger for romance constantly with endless delights.
Your lips moreover are the window to your soul; a place of never ending bliss,
which are opened so tentatively with the touch of my succulent, crimson kiss.
At long last however I can only hope you see such feelings as truthful rather than wrong,
for it is deep within the confines of your gracious heart that I eternally belong.
SYNOPSIS: About wishing to be a young woman’s very own personal superhero, and the hypothetical powers one might have and the things one could do if such was indeed not a fantasy, but a reality, and the brutal harshness of what happens when reality eventually does indeed bite.
The weatherman concludes the news by saying goodnight.
The mayor closes the city by turning off its lights.
All the stars come out and begin to fill up the magnificent sky;
and the civilian’s, they dream, of all the people who are destined to die.
Out on the street, a car begins to triumphantly break down
and cries of regret ring out all through this hollow, ghostly town.
You walk down the street hoping to be rescued by your white knight,
whilst I sit at home wishing to be your superman tonight.
What if every hero were to spontaneously disappear
and there was not a soul around to wipe away your precious tears?
What if every hero was to surprisingly resign
and there was no one around to tell you, ‘you look so fine’?
Would you open up your heart and soul if you were to hear my plea;
every time our eyes meet your ravishing beauty overwhelms me.
For if I were your hero, everything would always be alright
and when you go to bed you would finally sleep soundly tonight.
Even heroes such as I can dream of a lovers kiss,
especially when it’s from your lusciously gorgeous lips.
Without you by my side I could never times infinity be whole,
you are the answer that is constantly needed inside of my soul.
Whenever I see you, my knees begin to grow weak
and I instantly find it so difficult to speak.
In reality however no hero would ever act like this
but the inconvenient truth is; no hero really does exist.
In reality I am, unfortunately, not much to look at
which is why I wear this magnificent cape and matching cowboy hat.
I may be disturbed, or I may even be completely insane
and my concepts on superheroes may seem totally inane.
But such ideologies are what I have, cherish and believe,
no matter if they always sound so incredibly naïve.
If I am the hero there is no doubt you are the plane,
you are the only young woman who drives my heart insane.
It is said that each and every superhero has a unique power
one which is used religiously at the chime of each and every hour.
If that be true, then I wish I had the ability to fly
which is a power that no superhero could ever deny.
With these invisible wings, through the clouds I would soar,
to find that special someone I have been searching for.
I cannot help falling head over heels in love with you,
without you by my side my heart is lost for what to do.
If I was your true hero we would never be apart;
for it’s you who touches every place in this hero’s heart.
Choosing to live without you would be this man’s biggest mistake,
which would inevitably cause this young hero’s heart to break.
I need you to survive because you are the better part of me
and by proving my love to you, my heart would finally be free;
for no one else in this world does to me what you do
and the hero inside me will help with your rescue.
Every night I lie awake in bed and dream of your deliciously moist kiss,
never in my wildest dreams did I believe I could feel anything like this.
Even hero’s such as myself and others have the continued right to dream;
for in reality heroes such as I could not exist, so it would seem.
I would sell my soul to ultimately become your hero,
whenever I think of you this heart reaches a crescendo.
I do not know what it could be that you inevitably do
but you have this hero madly and forever in love with you.
I swear to you I will love you until this body grows weary and old
if I am represented as silver, then you, my love, are solid gold.
To prove my love eternal I’d gratefully sweat, burn and bleed,
to have you as my one true love I promise I will succeed.
I feel you in my skin and in my bones which are so hollow,
to have you in these arms tonight I would beg, steal and borrow.
Every hero has a weakness and you are, I swear to you, my Kryptonite,
and although this is truth I speak I still wish to be your superman tonight.
SYNOPSIS: Jimmy, a student attempting to do a research project on the mysterious town of Gransnapia discovers a story about a statue of a man that is placed on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and why he will never leave.
Jimmy rode timidly upon his bike, the immaculate town of Gransnapia located around the bend, the entire town looking considerably bleak and dark, a shadow of its former self. He had never been present during its glory days, but had heard stories of its brilliance, which is why he had decided to do his assignment on the town. The teacher requested they write on something fantastical, and this was it. Jimmy however never imagined the town would be so frightening to behold, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he rode into town. A dense cover of fog emerged from the confines of small broken town houses and spiraled around him like ghosts, eager to accept him as one of their own.
Jimmy began to feel his decision to come was a mistake, slowly turning his bike around before slipping to the ground, gravel digging into his skin, the fog appearing to laugh at his own inconvenience. Making his way to his feet, Jimmy noticed an old man standing a few metres away, his clothes ragged and dirty. The man turned his head to look directly at him, causing a shudder to crawl along Jimmy’s spine. Taking a deep breath, Jimmy summoned all the courage he could muster before asking ‘do you know any interesting stories about this town mister?’
‘Depends’ stated the man, taking a step forward. ‘Do you want to hear a story’ he asked, ‘or do you want to hear a story?’
‘Which one is which?’ asked Jimmy.
‘The latter is far more fanciful’ stated the old man. He pointed up at a statue of a man placed atop of a cliff edge overlooking the entire town. The statue appeared sad and alone, the body posture signaling the man had lost something significantly dear to him, his head bowed in a silence that could never be broken. ‘I can tell you a story about the man that can’t be moved and the story of his Juliette for all eternity’ he said, before beginning to tell the tale.
The town of Gransnapia was traditionally inviting. Bright and beautiful, lights flourished across the city at night making the small civilisation stand out like a beacon. However, what Gransnapia was most famous for, were its apples. Gransnapian apples were sold for twelve dollars per kilogram, visualised as one of the most succulent and addictive forms of fruit ever conceived. This world renowned delight was what made the town so famous, comprised of many wealthy industrialists who had made a living of extravagance and luxury for themselves.
However, nobody ever distinguished the true nature of the townsfolk. They were, each of them pretentious, egotistical and presumptuous, having a great amount of prejudice towards outsiders. If they were not a part of their society then they were simply seen as misfits, the scum of the Earth whom they believed needed to be swept clean.
The townsfolk wore luxurious and exquisite outfits, dining at the only restaurants they had ever known, incredible arenas which were crafted specifically for the kings and queens of industry.
This behaviour was clearly represented the day the new shipments of parts for their hydro-electric dam were sent over by ship from the far side of Australia. The vessel was black in colour, looking like a beast on the horizon as it docked in port. The gargantuan containers were removed from the ship, and in addition there was one passenger. Nathaniel Buck was his name. His costume certainly wasn’t extravagant, appearing dirty and ragged from his trip at sea, his face unwashed and covered in hair. The townsfolk looked down at him as though he was a weed, one which needed to be destroyed quickly before any harm could be done to their Garden of Eden.
Nathaniel immediately had trouble attempting to be accommodated into a room at the local hotel, and the next morning found it even more trying when nobody wished to offer him a job, instantly being deported to the docks to ensure the area would be kept immaculate.
Whilst working there however, he couldn’t help but notice the comings and goings of an extraordinarily beautiful young woman. Virginia Copperfield was her name, daughter of Harvey, one of three men who had founded the Gransnapian apple trade. Her blonde hair flew out behind her as she rolled by in a luxurious gold trimmed carriage, her attire being a blossoming gown made from the finest silk imaginable.
Nathaniel was told by fellow workers he was crazy for having any romanticised thoughts over such a person. But the dock master liked the work that Nathaniel had accomplished, providing him with a larger economical cash flow, and as he built up his savings, Nathaniel made himself more presentable.
Even after Nathaniel had dined with the best of the town however they still failed to provide him with any respect, especially Harvey, who had noticed the stranger looking at his daughter on countless occasions. He needn’t have worried however. The stranger was never able to sum up the courage to communicate to such an attractive young woman, believing, like the town did, that he was a creature no woman of such brilliance could ever have feelings for.
One night after watching an adventurous piece of dramatic art about a couple of travelers and their escapades, Nathaniel had actually met Virginia in the booth above the stage whilst he was making his way towards the exit. The both of them had stopped what they had been previously doing and looked at one another for a second. Nathaniel had attempted to form words, but had ultimately failed, instead, tipping his hat in the presence of the beautiful young woman and departing from sight.
Although he was still disliked by the locals, Nathaniel did indeed begin to have additional occupations opened to him. Through these he was able to pull off many endeavours the entrepreneurs wished to have accomplished, from moving something from one place to another, to helping to advertise for bigger business. The most attractive feature of such occupational occurrences was the payment, which added to the luxurious lifestyle Nathaniel wished to concoct for himself. He had come to believe such wealth would make him appear to be quite the gentlemen in the eyes of Virginia, nothing apart from his self esteem been able to stop him from achieving his dream of finally being able to ask her to spend an evening with him.
When Nathaniel realised Virginia was being sent by ship to Europe a couple of weeks later under the machinations of her father he felt his entire body begin to shut down in grief. As the luxuriously gargantuan vessel pulled out from the harbour, Nathaniel stood atop of a cliff edge overlooking the vast ocean, and for a moment, just one, he could have sworn he noticed Virginia look up at him. It was almost as though she too had wanted him to approach all this time, and in one split second all opportunities were vanquished.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months, and months inevitably turned to years as Nathaniel continued to wait on the cliff edge for his beloved to return, to tell her exactly how he felt and pray he was not too late to be with her for all eternity.
But never did the ship return. Nathaniel continued to wait after the ship and all of its crew were reported missing, and after a period of seven long years the constant brutality of the sun caused Nathaniel’s skin to crumble into rock, until he became a part of the cliff itself.
A few months later it was reported the vessel had been attacked by enemy troops invading Europe, no survivors ever being reported after the ship had being razed into the depths of the ocean.
Jimmy took a few steps back, his mouth open in shock, unable to say anything to properly establish the way he currently felt. ‘Wow’ he managed to say in awe.
‘Yes’ nodded the elderly man. ‘Virginia and Nathaniel were the best of all those who ever entered the town, and without them Gransnapia inevitably destroyed itself through wrong doing.’
Jimmy looked at his watch before shouting ‘gee, thanks mister, but I really must go now’, quickly leaping onto his bike and beginning to ride out of the town. He turned around suddenly and looked up at the statue one last time, instantly recognising the resemblance. The old man was the ghost of Nathaniel, trapped for an eternity away from his true love, the two of them cursed to forever be apart.