Sebastian

i

Sleek with his ebony complexion, 
I imagined that Death had stood in his place
And draped in the darkness peacefully. He smiled 
At the boy with his eighty-eight dreams.

ii

The girl, mysterious like her ever-loyal friend, 
Made a shawl of the velvet. She waltzed
Under the afternoon gaze—and as her fingers danced, 
The world seemed beautifully obscure.

iii

He hated it—the pain that leeched 
On the back of his childlike hands, which was too young
To reach the eighth—and the cause of the pain, 
Which was not forgiven without angry discords.

iv

The entry to Sebastian's room 
Pronounced a very personal dimension: it opened only for her. 
Many stories were shared there, for it promised serenity, 
And most important of all—secrecy.

v

He drove his hands hard and forcefully
At the Magnificent Black Wall, and the wall endured it. 
His tears were shed. His wrath and fury, too, were shed—
And they all soaked the black and white bricks.

vi

Late at night, she stole the time to spend with him—
And under the moonlight, they kissed and caressed 
As they whispered Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, and Bartok. 
These ancient names were used to witness their age-old affection.

vii

In ire too mindless for his bone to withstand, 
He was broken. Thirteen years of root-strong passion exhumed 
Within a wince. He did not dare to face his friend-foe again. 
Was something lost? Oh, yes, most definitely.

viii

Although left alone, she played on with twice the emotion. 
It was as if she played for her brother as well. 
Her brother, now broken, has long lost his hatred, and 
There hasn't been a moment when the moment was not missed.

Dale Chou
2002-05-26