We work in the Dark; we give what we have. Our Doubt is our passion- our passion is our task, and the rest is the madness of art. -Henry James

Monday, November 22, 2004

Soul's Memory

I knew you in a past life
you were my paramour
A face that lit my life
from within
and does even today
when I remember
thru those eyes

It’s something in the eyes.
I’ve known them for millenia-
a tenderness and
a connection I have
known no where else

How I pine in this life-
to be so close
and yet so seperated.

It seems that though
our lives this time
are to touch,
we are never to be as it was.

I stand on the sidelines,
my insides aching to touch,
to prove again my undying
love

and have to watch
as each time you walk by
only the barest flicker
of remembering.

I cannot blame you,


yet it hurts.


You were the one I gave
it all for- the centre
of my very world. All
else was merely interference
or perhaps enhancement
but when we were together
I felt complete.


It is said that all
existence
is merely smaller pieces
of the One,
that it all fits together
in one gigantic puzzle.

I feel like a solitary piece
sometimes
floating in time
wanting to find the one
piece to complete me.

It is unfair,
no matter now well I
knew you,
to expect you to be
that piece.

Yet you once were.
and I know it.
and I have yet to
find another path
in this life.



Forgive me.


I do not always know
the path I am to take
here.
Looking within does
not seem to shed light.
I seek what I knew
because what I have
does not seem to fill
the gaps.

And, as I did before,
so shall I love you
now,
even from afar.
That, at least,
the Gods would
know as
sacred.

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Trust not those without a little touch of madness.