The Mystery

A moment in the forest
takes on the faded image of a face
a quality of shadow
rewinding to a long-forgotten place
where locked in an enchantment
her body frozen by a magic spell
lay sleeping there a damsel

more beautiful than mortal tongue can tell

You stumble on a clearing
not far from where you hear the traffic roar
to find an ancient tower
and marvel how it was not seen before
though smothered all in ivy
for nigh-on almost forty thousand weeks
rising higher than the trees
a legend of which no one ever speaks

And from the highest window
the lilting of an unfamiliar tune
comes down to draw you closer
as you become the tide before her moon
beside an oaken doorway
a rusted nail supports a silver key
and as you reach to take it
you hear her call: "To me, my love! To me!"

At once your blood - it quickens
the handle, under protest, starts to turn
and so, inside the tower
to gain the stairs is your one true concern
but here the light is golden
while outside tumbled foul acid rain
entranced, you hardly notice
for such is the enchantment on your brain

The steps go on forever
as you begin to lose track of the time
and onward, ever onward
her lovely voice still beckons you to climb
until you reach a landing
all bathed within the same unearthly glow
before another doorway
this way, it seems, the only way to go

But when this door is opened
and unseen hands have led you then inside
you realise with horror
that long ago this fair young maiden died
and, kneeling by her deathbed
alongside others drawn through history
you join a row of statues
forever twined within the mystery