avec moi, sans moi,
Ahh… and the tales I shall unfold
May blast comprehension if the truth be told
An ode to the masters, martyrs and whims
A satyr on life and sullied daydreams
I can see you;
I know you for what you are:
I feel your pulse through me,
Throbbing at my neck,
Gushing through my wrist;
I know your thoughts
As they pass through your mind;
I feel your reactions
As they reverberate through your body.
Do you not know me?
You are not of me,
But am I of you?
For we are intimately connected.
Do you see me in the shadows,
In the wilderness of the woods,
In the shape of wolves as they prowl?
Do you feel me in the night,
As you squint into the dark,
Confronted by enveloping, obscuring blackness?
Do you hear me in the deafening silence,
In the light tread behind you,
In the rustling of the undergrowth?
Do you smell my aura in others,
In death and destruction,
In the unseen corners of your soul?
Do you taste me,
Bitter and rancid,
In all that you see
And all that you do?
You cannot forget me,
But I forget you,
You forget yourself.
She was beautiful, like the night
Yet her beauty was not that of the darkness.
She was vulnerable,
Yet her vulnerability was not that of naivety.
She was strong, yet not powerful;
Though a power resided in her
It had not yet been awoken:
The mists of youth shrouded her
And her clay was kept moist,
Still to take shape through
The experience gained in time.
But the mind was awake, and stretching
Forming dreams in the fires of her desire
And fumbling blindly to interpret the
Wealth of knowledge her senses brought her.
And her spirit wandered free, unshackled,
But she could make little use of it:
A wild creature, untamable
And not understood, nor yet made an ally.
And her soul was deep, fathomless,
Not readily explored.
And in her heart, so soft, pulsating with life
And love, she had not yet found residence,
For she feared too much the pain
It rendered her to stay there too long.
And yet all shone with brilliance
But the brilliance was clouded with fear
And in each was its own wisdom
As yet uncharted.
And she feared herself, for she was still young
Yet aware enough to feel what she was.
Life there was in her, vital and growing
And she glowed,
Glowed with beauty she did not know
For she had not yet been taught.
She sought a teacher, but none could be found.
And already she was scarred
And her eyes were knowing
Yet she did not feel she knew enough.
Her fear and insecurity held her
From venturing forth.