Syllabic Imagery

Caliginous night ebbs and flows around me like a mother's heartbeat pulsing through amniotic fluid. Waking .. lulling ... soothing. Poppy's drowsy breath like summer's lazy mid-day upon my cheek and I feel as if I have drunk from some ancient wine that weights the aegis of my lids making them nearly impotent.

As sleep embalms your weary form and transcends you to Morpheus' arms .. the ancient melancholy melody reminds me of my own fragile mortality. Beautiful in its brief existence .. but gone too soon to make much of a difference in the great .. grand ... scheme of it all. Unique .. a vision ... I can not be the only one to savor such sweet sorrow on my tongue. If so .. I weep for their complacency.

This melody.. played here .. before me ... this song of unraped innocence shrouded in flesh. Of unspoiled beauty within tenebrous mists. The depth of your white pages still unknown even to yourself. So much yet to write. How easily you believe your book is filled. How quickly you assume that these amateurish attempts at verbal ownership have succeeded. And yet only the very first pages have been touched and traced with the imprint of my intent.

There is so much more. So much I need to hold within my hands and understand. To translate from your world to mine. To build and create .. lift high by muscle and sweat ... that someone might know what I know. That someone might understand this perfection I understand ... see this clarity I see. Feel .. even a fraction of what I feel ... right now.

I fight so hard to tell you. To form in verbose imagery the visions all worked around you. The spells and incantations .. the prayers and incense. The alters of slaughtered innocents I have littered across this moment unspoiled by time .. ageless by perception. That pedestal I place you on .. time and time again as you succumb to your own fears of inadequacy. But if you knew .. if you understood who you are to me you would not falter. You could not .. all that you are to me is strong enough to withstand anything. Unconditional in core value .. incapable of weakness against anything beneath these heavens .. mortal or immortal.

But my tongue fails me. Trapped inside myself my words grate and fall against each other like colossal granite stones. A pile of rubble that resembles no artist's creation. A wasteland of attempts. Monoliths raised across a desert floor of shifting sand. Each one a testament to my soul .. my coal sealed lips ... the unforgiven one.

Born on this futility .. left only with my pen ... I am infused with a horrific fear that I may cease to exist before I set the outline of your spirit into verbal pixels. Before I paint the contour of your features with syllabic imagery ... set these sensory pictures to stone that long after I have left this wretched coil of existence some far hence eye might experience the freedom of thought you begin to inspire within me. Grant someone a new horizon born on the very essence of who you are .. to me.

If I could only complete this .. perhaps then I might face the resolve of my existence with no second thought. Cease upon the Midnight's breath with ease of mind and heart. Embrace the final moment .. take that final step ... find your cool pillowed breast and

.. finally sleep.

©2009 Written during and dedicated to a .. Night with ... Beauty