Long ago I was young and naive and hopeful and believed
My heart was a flame with the belief of love
Its plumage magnificent and terrifying
It lived in the belief that even if it were broken it would rise again
But this was not quite so long ago
The time of the heart is different than the time of the mind
When that great phoenix
In its youth
In its greatest power
Burns in its own fire, its fire that had been cared for and admired by hope
Cared for by blood and bone,
By faith and innocence,
The mind laments its loss and shares its pain
It lovingly scoops its ashes into the ornate urn the mind thought it always deserved
A sight to behold
The love that the mind bore for the heart, a love that could never protect it
And hides it within the folds of its grey domain
The phoenix does rise again,
Small and fragile,
Afraid at the loss of its power, of its grand wings, of its fire divine
The mind takes it and places it in a golden cage meant to mend and protect its flames
But a phoenix cannot grow in such a place
It cannot fly
It cannot sing its terrifying song of beauty and power,
Terrifying in resonance and in truth
But in the mind it feeds only on dry seed, not the sweet nectar that it is worthy of,
The mind knows that the heart needs this freedom,
But it also knows that this freedom will lead to another supernova in the intercostals,
It is out of love that the mind does this for the heart,
For the heart is not the only one to know pain and beauty and power
The mind suffers silently, with an unyielding patience as the pain reverberates through every capillary,
This interaction goes unnoticed,
It is assumed that the mind must be evil for denying the heart such wonders and freedoms,
But only the pain can be seen,
Never noticing the healing, not until its finished does it become evident.
I had not noticed this,
I had forgotten the value of my heart,
I had forgotten to give it the fire of hope and the winds of innocence and waters of faith
And the purity of trust.
But one of impulse came my way
So short and intense was this strange affair
His chance and command of chaos came to notify me of my folly
And then
After he came and went,
After he shocked me into consciousness
My heart awoke,
Because of him it awoke.
The pain of caring, the same thing that caged my phoenix, gave it power again.
Its fire ignited, its plumes aglow, its song again pure in tone, full and rich in sound
I had forgotten,
Forgotten the power and beauty and value of this gift
Forgotten that it is not a right, but a privilege to own a heart
Only those who care for it, who tremble in the phoenix’s presence, those who trust it,
Will know love,
Will see its beauty
Will be rewarded by it
It does not know ownership,
It is living,
It is alive and depends upon its carrier for nurturing
It does not need protection from pain.
But this man,
Who chaos and coincidence sent to me,
Does not even know that he saved my heart,
That he awoke not only my heart but also my mind
He woke me from a lie I had knit and had called my skin,
He reminded me that my heart was still within me,
He reminded me of where my heart belonged
He saved me from a life where I would not trust or nurture my heart,
Saved it from a life without trust or belief in love.
Thank you.

Last night I dreamt of your smiling face,
I dreamt that you were speaking to me,
That you were laughing with me,
I dreamt that we were friends,
Then I awoke,
And upon awakening I saw your sulking face,
I was greeted by your silence,
I woke to your hate,
And I remembered,
That we are friends no longer.

Your glow I feel beneath my skin
And when you go,
Leaving your little fireflies all through the night,
Their dust remains upon my skin
I stare in awe, in fear that if I move too quickly the light will fade,
But then you return and you bathe me again in your radiance.
Cloaked in silk you enter, the beams of moon humbly tend your hair,
The stars blush in your presence,
You make sweet the darkness with your everlasting shine,
Your eyes, your smile, they command the wonders of the world,
Dulling and muting their stationary charms,
But you,
My muse, my matron, my moon,
You move,
And your movement shifts the very earth,
The mountains tremble and the oceans cower when they behold you.
And I, in your presence, I quiver and quake
For I fear the day that you should leave and take your lanterns of stars and lotus,
And leave me in the night,
The night which is beautiful,
The night which is terrifying,
The night which is you (but so much less without you),
The night which is also me,
In the dark I will wander without your light,
With nothing at my side but my loneliness,
And my lantern,
Filled with your fading dust.

Like a cold, stiff wind of winter,
The memory rips through me,
Hollow, and reaching through and around my bones,
With a distant power that leaves me a mere shadow under its claws,
Even in the warmth of summer
I remember the feel of its icy hands upon my shoulders.
It is as a ghost,
An entity that had so much energy in life that it left its spirit behind,
It haunts me,
It haunts my nights,
It haunts the halls and the cracks of this place,
It dwells in that coffee shop down the street,
But most painful of all,
What really gives it its power,
The one lock I can never undo,
Is that it haunts my very person,
In all I do,
Though I crumble in its presence,
It entangles its fingers into my hair,
And into my mind,
But you refuse to leave,
Or I refuse to let you go.