The Writing Desk

The Writing Desk

It was old, delapidated, distressed, paint was crinkled, peeling,
The dust was thick and the drawers were stuck.
I saw it there midst all of the other junk that was piled high to the ceiling,
The young lady gave it to me just to get rid of it, I was having great luck,
And did not even know it.
I sat it in an area of prominence,
I began to work with it, manipulating it.
I finally began to successfully pull the drawers and there was the romance.
The letter was so yellowed and as thin as onion skin,
It was meticulously flambouyant with fanciful lettering and a lovely quilled writing.
I opened it with so much care but I felt like a voyeur, like I might be in sin,
Reading this passionate love letter... conscience and emotions were fighting.
The words flowed off the page it seemed,
'If there ne'er cometh any chance that I should see ye again,
I shant forget thine eyes that I can sink my entire being therein;
I will always beare my own loss patiently whilest the twain
Ne'er will knowest total oneness, but we both will cherish what hast been.
Firstly, I must tell ye that I send ye my thankes
And I send ye my obligation in this conception.
Ye lifted me and my heart from a pit and darker ranks,
It rejoices at every inkling of thought... of every portion of your perception.
Thankes unto ye, my beauty, my lover of mine own soul.
I will be watching the stars and especially the one I named after you,
I will be rehearsing my own travailing o'er whilst I minister to this hole,
Enlarging all the while with my mood becoming azure blue.
Secondly, I beseech ye to long for me there,
Making your own days a bit more mundane, and tried.
I ask ye to stay somber, in ye own travailing, be encumbered in care.
Steal away there and daydream of me, stay acutely aware of me whilst thou shall hide.
Dream of me I ask ye, earnestly, I beg ye. Ne'r to forget me.'
The letter was explicit in all of the passion of all of those centuries bygone
In all of the loving there left so undone. It was a desperate plea.
The date was November 16, 1748.
He had loved this lady with everything he had,
She must've stepped out of his life, but not his heart, and it made me so sad.

A Victorian Romantic in the most Idyllic Persona.
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  1. DouglasMB
    this was beautiful… It reminds me of what I do when I get a chance to stroll through some of the antique shops. I imagin find a compartment with a journal or a dairy that tells a fatastic tale… brilliant I loved this….

    October 04, 2009
  2. funfreak

    This was wonderful…a great concept and a lovely rendering. Thanks, VWV!

    October 04, 2009
  3. VictoriaWV

    Thank you both. I had written it in a reply on the forums about a post there… and then I just added it to my blog, thinking that someone might enjoy it. I am so glad you did.

    October 04, 2009