Open Letter to the NightSoul

You steal upon my poetry, and sit there drinking in my words. You are a vapor that slips unseen around my lyrics and with a fleet, spectre like foot, you rush off into the ethereal plane, not even remaining for a moment to hear my reply to your words. Long I had walked the those metaphysical corridors, as a pseudo-philosopher. You and I spoke on this, many times. I was a fraud, a charlatan with the words of those you held dear. Yet, I was always here to accept my failures and claim my prizes. You, my dear hit and miss friend, simply flutter into my life, then drop a few words, speaking on my possible blindness...and vanish without a trace. So there I am left to toil, with my heart and soul abroil in the words you leave...Should I grieve, should I stomp my feet and rush about..feeling so incomplete?.. So I write a letter to you.....open forum, as if you knew I could not reach you, any other way....but here it is...tis all I'll say...:

How dare you speak to me, as if I am blind as blind could be? What right do you think you possess, to hear my poor heart confess and moan aloud through the night, then speak as if I have no sight?.....


What makes you think tis so, that there is more emotion to know? From what levels do you speak, that make me wonder if I am meek and sightless in my own pursuit, of that which plays as if a lute or harp upon the patterns of my night? There are others, with much less sight. Philosophers have pandered much as they talk of "why" and "what" and such stuff that most should ne'er care....but me I speak of LOVE tis fair...In that swiftest emotional flight, I swoon and sway with sad delight. What heights to reach upon loves soft wing, what soaring sounds our souls do sing in tune with beating hearts a fire, either passioned stirred or funeral pyre?


Blinded eyes that still do see that which brings our serenity. Love of self and love of life, is not so easy, there still is strife to fight and shift and find again. Internal strife, tis there my friend. You worry so, my visions concern, yet you left me there to scrape and learn the ways of sadness, solitude fine. You vanished without a reason or rhyme. Flew like the specter off on an ethereal quest, flew from my heart, from my side from my breast. You worry about emotion and my poor sightless eye, yet you slip in unseen, and away you do rapidly fly. Stirring up thoughts of memories past, bubbling up recollections of Love's labors last. Pointing a finger you come to descry, the fact that this Dancer's lost objective eye, and remains entrenched behind a fanciful flight, hoping to find her chance and respite from the harsh realities of life's daily cause. You think she will never slow down or to pause at the gift of life, that one has been granted, rather indulge in fantasy enchanted?


I stand ‘pon the threshold of my oblivious tract, trying to encompass that which most of us lack, and never have the pleasure in our vision to see, that which is the love that incorporates "WE". For love of life, or love of self, is not that which should bring us wealth, rather the love that makes two one, is the love we should not ever run from, but turn our hearts and energies toward, and upon that path that love we should hoard..and grasp it to our poor lost breast.....That dear Soul is my eternal quest.
Happiness is but a single word, as flightless as the ancient Bird that could not soar, nor flee the sand, but there in mystery cloaked it'd stand. I have seen the duel edged sword, I have heard the loving word, that which raised my head so high...and that which made this Dancer cry. I know no other emotion that relays, the deepest feelings that love conveys to those we hope, no dare to touch....for in loving another....we love ourselves..as much.
So speak not without recourse for me. Shake not my branches of tranquility, for within my prose, I find my rest, and ease that burden as I see best. Dance and sing, I do tis true, perhaps you did not see, or knew of the lilting poetic turn of the pen, but that is another story, till then I shall once again restate....Tis not so fair to come and sate yerself with your words, and naught for me, no way for I to make it be the way it was so you should know, you've closed your window, my letters don't flow. I've sought to write and your friendship seek, but you are gone again, as the rippling creek that flows right by my dreamers door.....You hit and run for the opposite shore.


*looks down tries to see what is written in the sand....clawed and dug by an ominous hand...there upon the ravaged shore, she see's the totals, smiles and changes the score.......RW-5 BH-0.....*

.........Calandra looks for Jacob...as ever

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