poetry

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antonymmouse:

Recipient: Renegadeangell / Natasha
Prompt: Windchimes
A/N: I had a lot of fun with this! I tried to take a multimedia approach to this.  The poem and the graphic are created by me, while the audio is a cutting from this. The concept is that Castiel’s vessel dies and he must become the wind for Sam. I hope you like it!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You used to touch,
his delicate thin fingers would hush
like lilies, petal soft
spring sweet on your summer skin.

But flesh is finite
and it too must wilt like so many
hyacinth blooms
no matter how many forever kisses
you whisper-blessed into his lips.

What was immaculate and yours
what had brought you forth from
the ever-darkness
like a lantern’s glow
now belongs to the sky.

Touch is something
you cannot have.
You approximate it—
he weaves himself
featherweight
between your palms.

He anointed the words
long ago
into the tangle of your hair
“Never will I
leave you.”

He never did, not truly, because
he always was the breath in you
moving the air to
fill up your lungs
and for you, he became the wind.

Everything he can say
is susurration, murmurs of
fondness, need
ghosting through the zebra grass.
The stalks wave
fondly toward you
and brush over your arms like
a lover’s touch.

You miss him, every bit
deep eyes to stubborn fingers
his honey-gravel words
but he is totality now,
oxygen and breeze.
You do not want
for the sound of him because
his voice is windchimes,
lilting free.