If I could get enough of a running start
I would leap above these walls (you’ve erected)
catapult myself straight into your heart.
I would join you inside your fortress
and never look back
I would dodge every cannon ball
each and every archer’s arrow
I would fight an entire army
I would slay every pharaoh
I would spread my wings and fly
clear this serpent-filled moat (you’ve constructed)
glide through your lantern-lit window
and land softly upon your chamber floor,
I would gather you gently
behind this closed fortress door.
I would humbly kneel before you
hold out my scimitar sword..
you can run it right through me
without a single word.
But as stillness embraces this darkest of night
I beg you to witness this weary phoenix’s flight
With tattered wings
I risked all for your heart,
I saw the end of this journey
before I saw the start.
If you would allow me to stay
and give me a chance
this is the last play
my very last dance
What it comes down to in the end
is what’s right and what’s true –
In the end its just me
and its you.
I lay my head upon this pillow,
I am consumed by thoughts of you;
when you used to lie next to me,
your arm around my waist,
drawing me near..
Our hearts would find their rhythm
and beat as one.
Long moments later,
my eyes finally find their way
to that place of dark slumber;
where there is no pain,
no missing you.
that side of the bed
is full of books,
and memories of you.
The chill in the air lingers,
and it takes longer to get warm..
I patiently wait for darkness
to envelop me,
to warm me,
to soothe me..
like your arms once did.
the same dream every night..
I am in the ocean of your eyes,
standing upon its jagged rocks,
fighting the wind;
and I hold up a lantern,
in hopes that it may guide your way..
“I said to my soul,
be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.” ~ T.S. Eliot
“When there is stillness,
the Beloved enters like a mist.
I am disarmed of my words.
There are no empty pages to be found…
and my pen has run dry.
The hours gaze from a clock with no face
and I am delivered from the clutches of time and space.
My eyes reflect light from that of a lantern
held by a wayfaring messenger.
She says, ‘I am not writer, I am written…”