To the point in heartbreak, suffering
and seemingly endless, I guess there
is always a point, we all reach. Where
we all get, a private demon, that rides
us, torments us, well, until the end
that is. Like that split second, when
we hear the final melodies played
by Du Pre. And that demon is particular,
knowing all our gentle spots in our
souls, where our lover once touched
touched, kissed and breathed upon.
For a small moment in the spectrum
of time, we forgot about our private
pains, and let go, becoming slightly
more fuller of our real selves. ‘But that
is not meant to be’, said the Bluebird
chirping on the branch, as the serpent
directed us out of Eden.
(knowledge variable)