Among the meadows, beside the church there lives a solitary soul,
his name is Arthur, who, like his father, possesses a heart of gold.

'To my dearest' he writes, 'to the one I love, the one I cannot have',
'the children cackle and point their fingers, the women are calling me mad.'

Arthur had wronged not a single one, he is a man both good and kind.
Yet he is highly eccentric and feared by some and, to his goodness, they are blind.

His only sin is the imperishable love he shares for his Rosalin,
she lives, like him, amongst the meadows and around the church, aside him.

'Conserved and peaceful' he describes, 'you truly are a woman in disguise'.
'the epitome of beauty' he says to her. 'My love is constant, it never errs'.

She, however, is a peculiar one. Her house is slender, wooden and black.
About her home there are painted signs, 'Witch' they say 'Don't turn your back'.

She dresses delightfully, with her hat and gloves, she adores her blue draped dress.
'Though that is strange', he writes again, 'as you do not seek to impress'.

'The ringlets and coils within your hair that sit above that buttoned nose,
each day I run my fingers through them, each day my love will grow.'

'The shards beneath my nails' he writes 'and scars upon my feet',
'The earth within my soles' he says, 'are painless when we finally greet'.

Her life is monotonous, continuous and dead, she hardly lives at all.
Yet each and every passing day Arthur is at her door.


Dara

I feel the arms of my skin, the hairs as they stand,
yearning and outstretched, what is it they demand?
They seek peace and envy those that behold such a gift,

maybe for a little while, you’ll be so kind enough to give?

Perhaps a mere drop, just a little something for the soul,
so that just for a little while, I may once again feel whole.



Dara

The truth is unfathomable,
to the wise man,
as colour can not be fathomed,
by the blind.
As his eyes are familiar with the darkness,
the thinker is still bound by time.



Dara.

Air had never been sweeter,
when I swam and broke the tension.
I released myself,
from the crushing oppression that restricted me.
I fought tens of thousands stood side by side, almost unmoved.
Every individual linked arm in arm, together a legion.
Each encompassed my fingers, in an attempt to detain me,
as I brought myself to the surface.
My lungs unfolded and bones reconstructed.
the pressure was lifting and there was utter peace.

So I breathe,

air forced inwards into my lungs,
recollecting within my yearning and frail sacs.
every molecule is treasured,
locked away and undisclosed.
And for a little while,
I was unbound.


Dara.

"Be hasty and come quickly.
Man or Woman - embark upon the search.
Use your outstretched arm to pave your way,
Examine every drop, every grain of dirt.

Seek harder, seek further.
Ahead! Do you see the treasures?
Bring this to me tonight, this hour,
And we will share its pleasures.

Let the seas engulf your body.
And my smells - let them inspire you,
submerge yourself in the grasslands.
Only good things will ensue.

No mercy, do what you must.
Use your tongue to taste the wind.
To elevate, exploit the winged creatures.
For me, this night, fall into sin.

“Love”? Forget love! We are almost there.
Gather your speed, gather your rage.
And do not wane, don’t you dare.

And here it is we alight.
Now lose yourself and swim deep.
Embrace the wrath of every droplet,
Drink my treasures as they seep.

Here we are, in both peace and madness,
A quarter hour of hunting with but a minute left to indulge."



Dara.

You have seen many moons,
and still the chariot sleeps,
and though many suns,
it’s sleep is ever sweet.

For it rises for the fading,
the weak and moribund of those,
yet being young at heart,
your soul is not yet old.

And even when it wakes,
to gather all its prey,
It passes swiftly by,
for it knows not your name.


Dara.