- 2,913 hits
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- Behind closed doors
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- The Bower – A Ghost Story
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- The Veil
Yesterday was glorious in London, temp was around 18° so we took advantage of the unseasonal mild weather and had a little outing on a Lake…but where? The clue is in an iconic landmark ;) Can you guess where these gorgeous views are?
The Monastery of the Annunciation sits in quiet elegance, nestled high on a pine clad hillside. The views over the Aegean are stunning. Blue skies, blue seas. The Presence of Angels wraps Evangelistria in perfect peace. On a rather chilly late October’s evening in England, I am enjoying a glass of red wine and revisiting treasured memory days of blessed sun kissed holidays spent on beautiful Skiathos. These special times with my beloved husband and children warms my heart, as does the warmth and kindness of the people on skiathos. Peace, Kindness and Love are surely the currency of the soul.
Doors are intriguing…I wonder what lays behind this one?
“Come to me and be my wife, I will love you all my life! My love is pure, my love is true, all I have, I share with you. Come Beloved, bide with me, in perfect trust and harmony!”
He once whispered those words of love to me. Our vows were sacred for all eternity. Alas, promises my beloved could not keep. Oh how my wounded heart did bleed and weep. You may well ask why did I not have eyes to see through his lies and mendacity? What was my crime or my sin? Why did He let the Stranger in? His words were callous, cruel and cold. It was not my fault jealousy took hold!
“I Loved you once, that much is true, until her beauty stole my heart from you. She is comely, my lover is fair, with eyes of blue and flaxen hair. Whilst you grew ragged, grey and old. ‘Tis your fault my Love grew cold!”
My tears they fell like bitter rain. Illusions shattered, piercing pain. In the winter of my heart, I vowed from her he would part. I grabbed a knife and plunged it deep, his life blood ebbed to eternal sleep. So now beneath the pure white snow, in the rich dark Earth deep below, lay two silver caskets filled with bones. By our silent grave, my ghost atones. Encased in ice, two hearts entwine. In Death’s embrace my Love is once more mine. In Death’s embrace my Love is forever mine. By my side eternally lays his head, even though he is long cold and dead.
© Eily Nash
Deep within the darkest heart of night dance slender beams of soft Moon Light.
Brushing aside the despair cloaking the ancient ruins, La Luna’s children played midst the remaining dank and gloomy walls. With carefree abandon darting moonbeams brought illumination to the derelict Eastern Tower, a silent Sentinel withstanding the ravages of time, proudly giving testament to the pride and glory of bygone years. Those who once lived and loved within the Castle’s protective embrace are but jagged shards of memories, forever entombed within decrepit walls. Yet there remains a solitary voice from long ago compelled to whisper her sadness upon the wind. Trapped by her heart she cannot leave her lonely Bower within the Castle Tower.
By the light of the moon, at her lonely loom, sits the Lady Eleanor. The passage of time has ravaged her home but not she, for the lady is comely still. With hair as dark as a Raven’s wing and eyes of cobalt blue, her beauty beguiles the starless night, for there is no other to gaze upon her countenance within these torn and empty walls. Softly, she sings a sad lament, fragments from a Troubadour’s tale of a love long lost. Sorrow clouds her as a shroud. With downcast eyes and ethereal hands she takes soft strands of numinous threads and weaves silently through her tears. Through the telling of her silken tales there begins to unfold a story of love, a story of loss. The lost love of a Knight of old. Her Knight…Her story…
To the soft strains of a melancholy Mandolin every stitch of the Knight’s chivalrous deeds begin to unfold upon her fragile tapestry.
The dazzling Sir Berengar, encased in his suit of armour and clutching his sword of steel, mounted upon his dashing destrier.Drawing admiration from the assembly of illustrious Lords and Ladies, aware all eyes were on him, damsels to Dowagers their adoration freely flowing to the mighty man of war. As he graciously bestowed generous glances upon the Ladies fair, Eleanor had smiled trustingly. She knew within his brave breast beat the chivalrous heart of one who only had eyes for his Eleanor, for her. And so with a righteous fire burning in his heart and mounting his noble steed the valiant Knight bade Adieu to his assembled Court and proudly rode to war.
Satisfied with the vibrancy of the first scene, Eleanor left her labour of love at her loom. Gazing out of the window her searching heart went forth once more into the blanket of night, looking and longing…Did she know then, as her Gallant Knight took leave of his Lady Love to sail from England’s green and pleasant lands, how their story would unfold? With a sigh she returned to her tapestry, intent on weaving the threads of her fragrant memories. There is a chill that pervades her bower, yet her shivers are not from cold, but the delightful anticipation of her noble Knight’s triumphant return. The glory. The honour. How her heart sang joyfully for him! How she wrapped her self in the warm glow of the sweet words of eternal love he had spoken. How her heart had ached at his proclamations that her reluctance to acquiesce to his burning desires would surely rend his heart in two. His entreaties were urgent. His Lady was so cruel to tarry for had he not great perils to face? And had he not entreated her that the sweet memories of her succour would surely comfort him upon the bloody battlefields. Her chivalrous Knight, bestowing upon her his troth, declared they would marry upon his victorious return from the beast of war. The Lady Eleanor would become Châtelaine within these Castle walls; with lyrical persuasion the Knight’s conquest was assured. Cautioning Eleanor keep well her own counsel for their secret summer of trysts, his ring of gold set with a ruby red held the promise of eternal love and her silence.
Through the cloak of darkness a mote of light broke through the night, bringing momentary illumination. Eleanor’s fragile heart skipped a beat. Was that her Knight she saw?
Cruel memories came crashing into her dreams. A tear fell. Her beloved had sailed across the seven seas. Yes he was gallant, yes he was brave but he had left her and their unborn child for the glory of the King’s Crusades in a faraway Land. By forfeiting his vow to make the Lady Eleanor his wife and thus give legitimacy to his seed before his departure, he had abandoned her to her fate.
Watching the passage of many Moon tides from her lonely Bower she entreated the star clad night to light his way home before her shame was there for all to see. The Highborn Lady Eleanor, who some may say was without blame, could not be seen to be robed in tarnished garments of dishonour. Yet she held her head high, comforted by their unborn child’s quickening. For he would surely return and she would be his wife, and all judgement would pass.
The tidings of great sorrow came at the dying embers of the old year. Sir Berengar would nevermore see the sun rise and set upon England’s Sceptered Isle nor give his child his name. Enemy and Gallantry had brought him to his knees. Ever true to her Love, Eleanor kept her counsel well.For the Templar’s cause her brave Knight willingly gave his life.For her family honour, the lady Eleanor gave hers.
They found her at the break of day, pale sunlight glinting on her lifeless and broken body. His fire red ruby ring proudly burning bright upon her unwed hand. The fallen Lady laid to rest beneath her lonely bower whilst her Lover lay buried beneath the sands under an Eastern Sun.
The solitary passage of time has shrouded the castle walls in shadows and gloom, yet awaiting her Lover’s return Eleanor’s ghost still sits by her loom, lingering midst the rot and decay, trusting Love eternal will raise them from the ashes and dust of betrayal. Her Love lives on, though her Knight and their child are long dead, as is she…
Perchance, your steps take you through the ruined walls of the Castle Keep, they do say by pale moon light and night’s embrace, you may yet hear the strains of a mandolin as the lonely Lady weeps within her ghostly bower.
Deep within the darkest heart of night dance slender beams of soft Moon Light.
© Eily Nash ~ I took the threads of a poem and wove it into this ghostly tale…
A BEAUTIFUL BALLAD TO SHARE…
Sometimes you come across someone who has a HUGE talent, and you go WOW and are in awe of that talent. I did just that when I heard “Busking in Berlin” by Jorg. This young man has worked so hard and deserves every success. I so wish him well…
Take a moment to visit the link to his music… Listen for yourself to one of my most favourite Bloggers on WordPress, the multi talented Mike Steeden’s son do his thing…
I think you will agree the boy did good :)