|"Bishop Gardiner's Discomfiture By Lady Jane Grey" by G.F. Folingsby (1828 - 1891)|
I brooded over and over again.
It took a long time but the time was well spent.
The plans were complete and adequately thought of.
Or so I thought before last night.
Wheels raced past me at the very last minute.
There was a humongous puddle of darkened water on the street.
They did roll over the muddy pile of smoky water.
And it did wash over me and make the rest of my day reek.
The day reeked of things filthy and many foul.
It was a day of nothing too good and merry and joyous.
So nothing perked me up, nothing lifted my spirits.
The metaphorical splash of dense dark water downed everything else.
The emotions that ensued could not be avoided, I do reckon.
Or maybe I simply am a weakling not too strong only at the surface.
For inside I was planning contingencies already, never lost my head.
The cold eyes showed, glowered at all but one who held my embrace.
Nothing mattered in the end as the day entered a close.
The incidents were forgotten, the darkness resolved.
A second approach was ready, all but the minutest acts in play.
But that's quite alright for that never bothered me in the least.
All that worried me and still does is the discomfiture that followed my shouts.
It was my own.
And it was heard by all.
A silent scream that lasted an epoch.