Method of Loci

Method of Loci

Silvestri

My palace has been gloomy as of late,

It was left in a dark and dreary state.

Stepping through my ego’s athenaeum,

Art decorates the walls like a museum.

Depictions of my conquests and follies,

Including a few tragic volleys.

There is one hall of particular note,

To a single impetus I devote.

The fire of my mind shines only here,

A singular focus, I find queer.

Paintings, mosaics, statues dedicated,

A show too grand for what's delegated.

Beneath dim light, these walls breathe and they sigh,

A mausoleum for dreams gone awry.

Each relic and fresco, an etched lament,

Of memories cherished, now lost, and spent.

Yet still I wander, as a wistful guide,

Through memories both gilded and too tried.

Dust lingers thick, its my ghostly disguise,

Covering tales of love’s once-shiny guise.

What folly drove me to sculpt and display,

Each fleeting touch, laugh, and hopeful foray?

Yet here they all are, entombed in this place,

A testament to her one sacred grace.

The first showcase is of the mighty stars,

Luna and Jupiter, but there’s no Mars.

These were the bodies we watched that evening,

I struggle to figure out their meaning.

The moon was halved; I’m not sure which side,

On the night that launched our grandiose stride.

A number of truths were found from the view,

Reveries and philosophies, too.

I should move on before I’m hypnotized,

Though; this evening should not be minimized.

Following the stars is my dearest piece,

A testament to a day of release,

Made up of three parts: morning, noon, and night,

Each steals a third of the mosaic’s light.

The morning depicts two lovers bound together,

On an autumn day bringing crisp weather.

The couple talk about their stressors,

But they also roister in good pleasures.

The pair move on to an impromptu show,

An afternoon opera; they did not know.

They revel in each other's company,

Listening to stories from Tuscany.

I often wonder what is on her mind,

Confident before; but now my thoughts grind...

Last but not least m is the dinner,

The end of the story, quite the winner.

A lovely day finished with a fine meal,

I’d kill to experience such a deal…

I would continue; but please excuse me,

The sight devastates me to a degree,

So let us move on; please let us move on,

Before I can remember why I fawn.

There are plenty of notable works here,

But time’s limited and the end is near,

To be frank the rest are derivative,

That’s not to say they lack initiative.

That would be quite the erroneous take,

I mean they all come from the same heartbreak.

Too close to the sun; Icarus of love,

Emotions the mighty have learned to shove.

Enough of this, I’m too sentimental,

So let's move to the most monumental.

The final segment is a guest favorite,

I find it tacky; yet still savor it,

A marble lady; sculpted so divine,

Can’t match the woman behind the design,

Held in her hands are gems from far off lands,

Not encrusted but held with golden bands,

In her left; held so high; was a blue stone,

Though the dark sapphire wasn’t alone.

Held low in her right was a bright ruby,

Reminiscent of her divine beauty,

I often wonder the frame’s intention,

One to heaven, other inattention.

Why left over right; it is without sense,

But does the decision need a defense?

Why question the actions of the saintly?

A mentality I once held faintly.

Questioning chips away her perfection,

But chipping seemed better upon reflection.

Perhaps her choice was born from confusion,

And her perfection is an illusion,

I fought back against the idol,

I threw out love and started to bridle.

Dance covered pain through many-a soirée,

The flow of its spirits blinded my way.

Days and nights become inconsequential,

At times no longer feeling sequential.

Nights became warmed by numerous bodies,

My brashness made them heartbroken copies.

Nothing worked no matter how hard I tried,

At this point my identity was fried.

I lied to myself; increasing my hate,

Wishing upon her a regret of our fate.

I thought bringing distance would cure my blight,

But it was nothing but a pointless fight.

I cling to Valentine when I need Jude,

How pathetic I am for my heart’s feud,

As the new moon shows the cosmos’ fire,

Her absence revealed my full desire.

The cosmos flickers, yet darkness prevails,

Each gleaming star, now cold as our love pales.

My palace walls echo with hollow sound,

Remnants of dreams once lofty, unbound.

I now walk alone down these haunted halls,

Passing by shadows, my own love-wrought walls.

I almost forgot; there is one more piece,

Hidden away, where my heart’s echoes cease.

It is not in this hall—so, follow me,

Down corridors dark as each memory.

Through twists and turns where many nightmares creep,

To the secret I’ve tried to bury deep.

The last piece waits at the gallery’s end,

A solemn painting of my once dear friend.

Her face in brushstrokes, so tender yet blurred,

A reminder of vows now left unstirred.

Her eyes that once glistened with kind embrace,

Now they’re mere ghosts, faded without a trace.

I reached out to her, yet touched only air,

Feeling the weight of my massive despair.

The fire that once warmed now sears within,

A flame of regret and third party sin.

If only I’d known, if only I’d seen,

The fall from grace was all so unforeseen.

Beneath the painting I sit in my throne,

Stuck in self-sorrow; forever alone?

Love’s conquest, folly, and a long gone muse,

Surrounded by memories I wish to lose.

For in these ruins of what’s left of me,

Lies the shadow of her love’s cruelty.

Now all that remains, from dusk until dawn,

Is a hollow heart where love has withdrawn.

And in the quiet, I curse and I yearn,

For a light and hope that may not return.