Unfolding like spell
old man with grey hair spoke
My eyes fixated on his lips
and ears open to hear.

He whispered, as if wind
was infused in notes of song
and wisdom shadowed his back.

He echoed as if bird
was hiding within
sharing melodic song
that meshed with heart.

“We are ancient spirits
temporary housed in vessels for souls.
Potions within must be poured
so our Merlin selves can be free.”
He paused took a drink of air
and continued.

“And some day all shall fly
to illuminate stars in vast universe
inside grace to unite with God.”

With that... he disappeared
giving comfort to my suffering self
which is only an illusion
waiting to be explored and conquered.

Thunder...in my chest.
The constant thumping clashes against my ribs.
Beats of a forgotten language.
Rhythmic melody that makes me blush. Sounds of love and tranquility echo throughout my body.
Blood rushes to my brain calling for action. Hesitation locks my movements.
I can’t move. I push harder and harder. Transfixed in a gaze.
She’s laying there.
As if the angles carved her from stone.
Eyes placed closed in a somber, I wish to free her from.
She wanders in the world of memories and dreams.
Unable to allow her to be trapped any longer.... I place my lips on hers.
The feeling of her warmth is....comforting.
The tightness from her lips begins to grip.
I hold her for a brief moment to allow her to fully regain herself.
Pulling away she opens her eyes to show my the galaxy’s trapped in her gaze.
She smiles... and says
“Goodmorning my love”

Abandoned in the night
and lost forever
in the gulches of a dream .

She cries for the words
that touch her being.
Her tears stain the shadows
and dampen the winds
for a thousand days .

She protects her heart
avoiding those
in need of comfort .
She is the tolling bell
hidden inside a storm .

One more time she
cracks the door of loneliness.
Seeking beauty stoked
inside a paper moon.

Flames flicker in the
foggy ruins of time .
She is lost in the waiting
and fooled by
sleight of hand .

Crying over a poem
from a strangers pen ,
in a Thatchers hut she weeps .

Her path is lined
with short shrubs
and colored bottles .
Her path is long
but rocky and curved .

Into the gulch besides
her path
She shovels the
abandoned remnants
of her dream .