The Last Dreams of Pony Island

by horizon

Sailcloth

Sailcloth

Oh! Sonata!

How could it be true?
How could the shining-eyed kelpie
with laughter like sea-bells
and a muzzle cool and salty
with the sweetness of the sea…
How could you…

Where are the innocence
and the endless curiosity
and the boundless generosity
and the delight at my gifts
with which I fell in love?

How could our memories—
the taste of shared lotus-flower,
paid for by a sea-melody,
taught with patience
in the stolen moments
when the sailors left the docks
for the confines of the common-house,
taught with patience
to a wretchedly atonal pony,
blundering through the harmony
as your throat shaped
air-sculptures, rich, ephemeral,
enveloping my eardrums
with a love as endless as the sea
—how could they mean nothing?

You killed Peridot!

—No! You could not have!
Not my Sonata,
whose very name must be sung:
So. na. Ta.
I know your song, Sonata,
it is curled around my mind
rich and sweet and innocent,
and the memories of our laughter
peal the bells
of Peridot's funeral dirge.

But you pulled her into the bay, they say,
so the Guard pegasi flew to hunt you.

I need to know why, Sonata.
If we meant so little,
if I meant so little.

I cannot live like this.
I will wait for an explanation
on the still and silent docks
where no boat has landed
since the Night of No Moon,
and if your answer
is to pull me into
the embrace of the depths
until the air flees my lungs,
then I shall be the next
to die.

Comments

[Dark Nightshade]

Huh. Was this two different ponies?