Vagrant Visions
Amid vagrant visions
of an inebriated mind
I searched high and low
for signs of that other …
The one I lost before I was born,
the delicious, perfect, only one
that my heart would bow down to
would surrender to
would give up its life for.
Time moves on ~
Turning slowly
into a will o the wisp,
a pale fragment
of what I once was,
I traipsed through marshes
bogs and quicksands,
caught in willful fantasy,
A tired ghostly soldier
in the dark,
lost in loose dreams
of never never land.
Time moves on ~
Then, at last,
one pure November night
dissolving into tears of the forlorn
(before the dawn began
her rosy dance)
I lay face down
exhausted in the snow,
defeated on the very edge of care
~ And ~
felt a gentle hand
turn my body to the moon,
light splashing the mirror
held above my ashen face,
Words tumbling softly
like liquid silk in space
saying:
“Behold, my friend,
did you not know?
You are your own Beloved!”
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