My words
that here etch upon
lay black upon white, the thought
that form that lingers silent amongst
those cushioned membranes of mind.
Whisper, and sometimes cries
so deeply from within, without
Into a world of being whereby I see
all that you are.
There where the night plays
in feathered dreams
the world readdresses itself
and here in the sweet pantomime of plays
I understand the depth.
Dark the hushed embrace
wherein I trace
those remnants that are of you.
That I touch, reach out to hold
grasp, a little more than indeed I understand.
It is within these boundaries
that stress the points of being, seeing
That I fall to the whim of the moment
the torment that resides
longing to know you more.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph