As the decades pass and words evolve
Here they survive, two notable men
Between the lines of browned and dog-eared pages
Laced in the rolled tobacco and wine bottles
Underneath the cobblestones of the English streets
They have never lived, therefore can never die
The first man, so very brilliant, but alone he was to die
Though it was too early—the days did not evolve
but emptier and emptier the crowded streets
became—he grew farther from men,
and sunk deeper into complex cases and pages,
stopping only to escape to the promised happiness in a bottle
It is only passion that he cannot bottle
but he feels nothing, just as if he were to die
He continues to search in yellow pages
for a door back to humanity, for a chance to evolve.
Yet he does not want to be like ordinary men
So he forgets, and wanders aimlessly in the streets.
The second man, limps along the once familiar streets
It slowly comes back—glimpses of faces, of guns, of bottles
He drowns in the dreams of screaming, ignorant men
Remembering how they all die—
(but he is strong, he chooses to live, to evolve,
to mean anything, to start anew (with blank, white pages))
Alas, the first man remains on stiff pages
and the second remains on cold streets
But unbeknownst to both, their lives are to evolve
through a mutual friend, and like a spin of a bottle
Time shifts and the past begins to die
with the meeting of these two men.
They live their own stories, of blood and of men
of stolen relics bankers thieves kings—written in the pages
of life itself, for even if they cannot die,
their stories live, growing old like English streets,
and resilient, like messages in floating bottles
They survive, they breathe, and they evolve.
While people evolve with time’s passing, in these yellow pages
they remain untouched—these two men still walk on the streets,
still sip from wine bottles, still solve crimes—as they never lived, they cannot die.
a sestina i wrote ages ago.
sherlock just returned (after two torturous years) and it seemed just apt to post this, for obvious reasons.