ENCHANTED WORD

There is a man

In this world

Who sets my soul on fire

And he knows

So he throws his wood

To keep it burning brighter

Or is it his breath?

His oxygen I consume and stay ablaze?

Fire with fireIgnited pyre

Does he also burn within his gaze?

Do we burn the breeze?

The water weeps

And still I extinguish not

And here I'm burning

-Forever yearning-

For all the reasons I haven't got.

...and not a space was left in the sky that was empty of the pouring rain. I was standing out of reach for fear of the dreaded being wet, but the wind knew better my needs and shifted so that the rain could catch my gaze. It touched my face so softly with a thousand fingers to discover every contour. And every part of me. Hands and feet. Shoulder and knee. Good heavens breathe.

The rain--chill, fresh, clean--cured me of this heat. And still it rises. Apart of me. How easily I steam. Always it rises. Here comes the rain to balance and sate this desire ignited...by you.

As I continued my steps and focused my breath as I breathed, I noticed that from that rhythm emerged a melody.

And for the life of me, I cannot remember it. It’s as though I have awakened from a dream. It flowed as a wave, to and fro, up and down. And the clouds played that game with the sunshine.

And the wind grew stronger when I sweated harder. I smiled when it did, and I forced my gaze upward. I can still see the trail ahead, but I need not focus on it. Sometimes, I’d rather focus on that wave of feeling free.

He said he was "cursed with poetry at a young age," like me, and so developed "unrealistic expectations" of love and romance.

But he is alive, and the words that molded his mind--our minds--were written by the flesh and heart, like mine.

And so I was called to poetry. I am able to love like them, like him. It cannot be unrealistic. What a terrible grave to dig for the intensity in which we love, we poets.

Are we, all of us, doomed to wander alone in the isolation of time periods and memories past? To live breathing in the air of mystery, never having fully loved or been loved? To carry a heart ever ablaze that intensifies the fire of the soul? Oh, separation is death.

Our fire is too much to bear alone, and so we are consumed by it--detaching from all, suffering fleeting infatuations throughout the ages.

My favorite thing in this life is being barefoot in the grass, in the wind, in the sun, in a sitting position. The presence of a still company can only bring forth inner peace. I become the peace surrounding me inside of me abundantly. Any movement that I see is a puppeting of the breeze--a display of giggling blades that glisten green.

This is the time when I can lay out to watch and marvel at the sky. I just love it so, and naturally I fall asleep. The sun puts me under. And during my best rest, I can't help but wonder if the sky watches and marvels at ME.

Something has changed.

For the sky is overcast and the rain is falling, and they did not bring me sadness.

It's a cold rain from which I refrain, but in my heart is gladness.

Connected to gray sky pops the earthy green of the organic shape called the tree line.

A day like this I once called gloom, but today it's name is refreshing and boon.

The sound of rain is like the low hum of a fan that comforts us while we sleep.

It's a present of peace, a promise of drink, a heavenly thing, a stillness that sings.

I am in it this time and not wishing it away. In today, I will stay without a dream of something...different and changed.

A gloomy day is only overcast, dimly lit and sad. Why does the gloom bring sadness, I wonder?

Sadness when sunless..

On these days, I wish I could lighten and float and be caught up into the wind--rising and rising until, at last, I am above the cloud barrier. Therein I'd rest upon.

Way up there, where good weather is neverending, above the storms and turmoil and sadness.

And when the storm passes or clouds dissipate, I float back down in a gentle, peaceful state. Still with the sun as my feet bare on the ground. With feet bare and eyes cast to the sky, I am sound.

And when the sun is no more, if a being takes its place, I'll still be there, watching, lasting joy upon my face.

Oh, what it must feel like for the mighty flower to blossom--to stretch out and invite in the day and gazes of many. Watching them, I tend to imagine that peaceful, whole state of being..

“I open up to you, sunlight, after the nightly wait. I bask and take in that which you freely and abundantly offer. Thank you, for I am a smile on a face with closed eyes. I am lungs filled with the fragrance of my body. I am a radiant, vibrant story that only the miracle of senses can tell.

All I have to do is be.

In this stillness, I accomplish so much, and I am never alone. I sway and I bend in the breeze, enveloped in everything that I need and a symphony..”