Is This Farewell?

All of us are here for just a time, a moment, or perhaps longer.

We walk with each other or perhaps not; friend and now stranger.

And there are those who come closer and those who start to drift.

And there are those who never realize goodbyes are like a thief.

It starts with all the little things that seem to fall away.

Words said and forgotten, and promises broken hold sway.

All the words of comfort seem so hollow in the light.

Where were those words when needed in the darkest of the night?

And all the things that were said and done and gifted thus sincerely,

Do not hold water when their value diminishes prematurely.

All the words and hopes and dreams are flowers without water.

Dead of neglect, bereft of care just like you just forgot to bother.

And here we are in the fork of the road walking a different way.

You hold new dreams within your grasp, your heart did start to stray.

I want to look back and get a last look to know that you are still there.

Perhaps I would see more than that, perhaps you do still care.

Perhaps not.

Harlequin

Flitting Butterflies

The poet looked beyond the edge of a cliff,
In the face of a wind, blowing strong and stiff.

He looked at the starts, myriad diamonds above.

He spoke from a heart, broken words of love.

“Were it so possible to proclaim that I have always loved you.

From the Day of Promises, my soul intimate, would forever ensue.

I’ve wondered have you ever loved me the way I loved you.

I’ve pondered if you’ve ever seen me the way I see you.

I know the tides of Reality will always move us back arace.

I await with arms open when you come reluctantly to my embrace.

And then torn from my grasp to whirl in eddies and currents of strife.

Dolphins dance and rainbow fishes perform their ballet of life.

All that I have for you are words, more mere words so cold.

But these words are all shards of my shattered soul.

And every shard is a cosmos larger than a universe of love.

Would they fly to you on the wings of a snow white dove?

Would they melt the ice of heedlessness on your heart?

Would they warm a heart that doesn’t know it’s fallen apart?

Would they touch a heart that flits like a butterfly searching,

From one flower to the next in its worldly yearning?

That you would see the myriad blooms and riots of colours?

That would settle awhile on one, yet always cover the others?

But ultimately, you have yet to taste the nectar fully.

And it isn’t the brightest blooms that taste the sweetest truly.

I am, for you nothing; I have nothing; I am from nothing.

Yet in that nothing, you have become my only everything.

You are the tantalizing taste of musk from the Garden.

It burns my mind, sears my soul and makes me ardent.

And yet it can’t touch my heart that lies broken, empty.

I possess no more heart but yours if only you can see.

I have no more Self but become a mere image in the mirror.

So look in the mirror and I am your reflection clear.”

“What manner of madness,” said the wind that hence blew,

“That you would serenade me and hoped she knew?

And who is this woman to inspire such pained burning,

And cause a Self to be annihilated in yearning?

You sit on the air with oblivion beneath.

On a Celestial Stair and yet you grieve.

Can Love make you float beyond the embrace?

Or is there more to Thirst of the Taste?”

Replied the lovelorn poet with tear-burned cheeks red,

“No mere daughter of Eve is left for me but instead,

I turn to the One who has never disappointed me;

Who has never broken my heart but has caused Love to be.

I turn my back to a world that has left me for dead.

That has shattered a heart that for love has bled.

She is a mere butterfly flitting for the world.

Can there be space for my love in such a girl?”

And the poet sat beyond the edge of a cliff.

Floating on air, on a silent wind blowing as if

He sat on a carpet in a Reality far beyond.

Contemplating the warmth of an Intimate Bond.

Harlequin

How I Yearn..

O how I yearn,

So do not spurn.

O how I miss,

If only this...

The scent of your hair,

It's beyond compare.

The smell of your skin,

My thoughts of sin.

The twinkle in your eyes,

The heaven that vies.

The touch of your hand,

I know you understand.

The lilt of your voice,

A faerie by choice.

The taste of your lips,

The thrust of your hips.

To know you wet and ready,

To feel your ecstasy so heady.

To hear you moan and scream.

To taste you as you cream.

To lay with you close,

Lightly kiss your nose.

Place small kisses on your back.

Mark your neck with a little peck.

In your face to know you're mine,

Lay close 'til end of our time.

To see a ring upon a finger.

And have a love to ever linger.

It is love unbidden,

It is hope unhidden.

It is Truth uncovered.

It is you discovered.

Harlequin

The Call of the Desert

If I am the desert, stark and empty;

I am the soul, forlorn and empty;

You are the clouds, above the dust.

To quench my parched, yearning thirst.

But you are only just the passing rain,

Stay this time, I pray in vain.

Even your rainbows last a short while.

Perhaps that has ever been your style.

I know you yearn for the forests beyond,

Drawn to the trees, you seem so fond.

To the mysteries of the dark canopy,

Of myriad life in all panalopy.

Please stay, and be more than clouds.

Be my river instead of flash floods.

Bring this desert to life once more.

I will hold you close as never before.

Quench my soul as you were meant to do.

And there will always be flowers from m to you.

And by that river, the desert will bloom once more.

It will become a forest and be a desert no more.

Harlequin

Sta’ilth Ja’artem

He felt a thousand years or more old,

But he looked no more thirty, be told.

And even when he smiled, his eyes were sad.

He saw what they could not instead.

With charm and eloquence, you give them the world.

With wit and humour, her heart is awhirl.

With light-hearted laughter, he though he dared hope,

That perhaps there was sunshine, from darkness to grope.

But it was facade, a lie and a joke,

Wounds and dark memories, once again did awoke.

And a heart did lie bleeding, all semblance is lost,

Of the man that he could be but such is the cost.

He took up the sword, since rusted unused,

Burnished it silver as the day it first hewed.

He hoisted the shield of leather and mithril,

Donned the armour of adamantium steel.

He went to the place and prayed his last two,

To a God who had tested him and raised his state too.

There were tears in eyes that never shed before,

Copious and unending, that burst from the core.

There were wounds in his heart so torn and shattered,

That bled dry before battle when once love unfettered.

The prayer that came out was of such pain and despair.

He turned to the heavens, said, “I accept this, my share.”

He took a deep breath and shut it away deep inside.

Where no one would find it, his heart had just died.

His eyes shone bright green and burned the tears away.

Time to do duty and honour and pray for death today.

He sent his soul on a journey to a different time and place,

And though she could not see him, she knew his scent and trace.

He put his arms around her and said a last goodbye.

Kissed her forehead gently: he knew she wanted to cry.

He was back in his world, armoured and unbroken.

He was strong at the forefront, the soul an empty token.

“My Lord, my liege, thy armies await thee.

The hosts are assembled, thy soldiers are ready.”

And the Tyregii have gone to war again,

To fight God’s enemies despite his pain.

To fight for the one he loved who remembered him not.

To die for a God whose embrace he sought.

And all he had when the Angel of Death took his soul,

Was a vision of her, hair framed her face, he was whole.

And the Veils were parted and he saw the Garden before.

For the first time in his life, he was not alone anymore.

Harlequin