The Pen and The Wind

Would I make a lover of the breeze?
To take the gentle caress of the zephyrs upon my lips,
And return them with all heart and soul,
Would I do such a thing?

Would I give my love to a Sylph?
The current of air flowing through both her and I,
To stir and fulfill the mind, 
To think in ways not ever seen,
And be inspired to ways unfathomable,
As the electricity between us charges us,
And from the simple touch of lips,
And staring deep into each other eyes,
Do we see the world as so much more,
And find the beauty in everything,
As we see it in each other,
Dare I experience that love like no other?

Would I give my heart to the wind?
I would if she would take it. 

I know not if we are bound by threads of fate,
But I know that we are meant to be bound.
For the heart is not a vault to keep all about us,
But a stream, meant to flow,
Between one point to another,
A constant flow of knowledge, emotion, and spirit,
Such movement, it is a single flow,
The waters of the soul that invigorate us,
That is more important to heart and soul than blood,
Comes from two hearts connected,
And with flow strengthened when more join,
The human heart a river,
The flow of all being channeled through,
Into a current that cannot be stopped,
But only strengthen when you allow it to wash over you. 

A person after my own heart,
No matter the distance they give strength,
The bolster to mind and spirit,
Without them, I would have long collapsed,
But they came inside my heart,
And propped up a crumbling wall with a heart of their own,
Then they go to work,
Slowly going about their repairs,
Until I can stand on my own,
And am more stable than ever,
I find myself with a new addition though,
A hallway, a connection,
Binding two hearts together for eternity,
And off we can live,
Forever bound by soul.

Frayed and threadbare tapestry,
The interwoven human experience
Tattered through the years,
What becomes of the human soul?
The divided soul functions like the Atma,
Drawing strength, growing larger, but only,
When connection is made, and the boundaries of the self blur,
What of the connections that the world eludes and shuns?
Are we scared of what we may find of ourselves,
Or in the collective of unity?
Do we fear the friction of our threads igniting?
Destroying each other in the interwoven blaze?
We should not fear such a simple thing,
As one heart reaching to another,
And in a moment of truth sharing all of itself,
Only to be known, and loved for what it really is,
Is that such a scary thought?
Dare we allow ourselves to connect once again,
And repair the tapestry that is humanity?

What is the joyful expression in physical form,
One that rebels against the norm, 
But rebellion not for the sake of it,
But now for the broadened from the things that fit.

What through energy in passion in myriad ways,
Delight every sense through all of our days, 
And excites in sensation the spark of soul, 
Ties us to ourselves and makes us feel whole.

What is the way that divulges from the typical way,
The destination that makes you explore rather than stay,
And love and challenge your own view,
Through sensual pleasure you find yourself anew. 

I remember when my dreams were filled with star light. 
And segmented throughout all time,
In each dream I was never myself but someone new,
Someone who lived their own life,
Someone who died when I woke.

I remember when my soul was filled with moonlight,
Compassionate as the naive dawn,
Breaking and bleeding out silver light,
As the yellow sun drains it down,
Until a black circle is lost among the midnight.

I remember when my heart did beat a song,
Rhythm of hope and life that was lost in noise,
Song that killed the piper’s tune and set the children free,
But such a tune is not always welcome,
A lesson I learned when I felt the piper’s knife in my back. 

I remember those days, 
Oh yes, I remember.  

Lay onto me that soft  betrayal,
That springs from the inhuman part of the soul,
And finds no fault in it’s own deeds,
Despite seeking to bleed me to the bone.

Bleed me dry with that silky hatred,
That finds its every action justified,
For so few humans have found humanity,
And the compassion is so alien to them.

Gift to me that gentle cruelty,
That kind I have been fed all my life,
I must have that too human evil,
Lest my every wound start to heal. 

I thought I spied a raven below a tree, 
It was only a glimpse of hair so ebony,
Flowing and flickering like candle’s flame in the breeze,
And the illusion of a bird was right to mind,
For song and sound flowed through air,
Song of sweetness, song of sorrow,
Song of yesterday and tomorrow,
Humble, and set below sprouting tree,
With song left and magnet to eye,
And let the soul through word and tune fly,
And see through melody every drop of spirit,
That soul could contain,
But I could offer nothing more than petty tribute,
For she who offers soul in such a way,
I could only offer what may sustain,
And all of my self was below her very worth,
But I gave my offering and went away,
I had a busking beauty change my day. 

Dead haze that clouds the mind, 
And to every bone and joint they bind,
High thoughts can’t seem to come
Unless one’s mouth is pickled with rum.

Haze of fear, of anxiety clouds,
And miasma ruins the beings it shrouds,
And gust of relief are far away,
Must this haze be here to stay?

Haze that clouds and chokes the mind,
Poisons the soul and to body binds, 
Release me from your basilisk gaze,
I’m tired of breathing in the haze.  

I walked a gravel and glass covered road,
To a destination no one dares go,
And I met a man lucid and unreal,
Who cried out through the unknown and arcane seal,
“The chain of dreams binds the mind,”
“From weary souls does it derive!”

Madness and corruption are feared, I admit,
But they try so hard to make us submit,
And only in nigmares do I find,
I’ve been awake the entire time,
For the chain of dreams binds the mind,
From tainted souls does it derive.

A tattoo, a carving made in the flesh, 
Of things above and below the mind’s thresh,
It always starts to scab and bleed,
For it’s been carved with the bones of an angel’s wing,
For the chain of dreams binds the mind,
From fallen angels does it derive.

A half-wolf collapses and through the aether cries,
As it’s soul begins the rot and die,
In it’s last moments it remembers being human,
And all things denied that it could have been,
For the chain of dreams binds the mind,
From tattered beings does it derive.  

Lust and desire of this magnitude are not normal,
Something abnormal but so delightful,
Inhuman but with dark charms,
Are those who have a touch,
Of the Incubus in them.

So keep your distance girl,
Lest you go and lose your soul to me.  

I’ve donated my body to science, 
While I still live,
For shadows have no need of physical forms,
My fleshy form,
Just goes to waste, 
Rotting in garbage can,
Wedged between a shattered heart,
And a crumpled up set of dreams,
So better someone else get use out of it. 

Constraint: Write a poem without the use of the letter “E”.

Always act with aplomb,
Don’t go missing within Spirit’s domains,
For it is to bind a Soul,
To missing thoughts and lost notions,
Which is to walk paths of sorrow,
 And find you lost, 
  From all that hold you as a thing, 
   That all should hold so highly. 

Drifting is such torment,
To watch someone you hold so dear,
Fade into an utter oblivion,
They slip away on dark and strange tides,
Over the horizon and off the edge of the world, 
All they leave you with are a couple keepsakes and memories,
Nothing that provides comfort,
If anything mocks you even more.

Not that you don’t fight against it, 
You thread your bones into ropes and chains,
Not to shackle but as support,
A tether to keep them them from slipping away,
And dig your fingers into to what piece of driftwood they stand, 
Keep them stuck in until they bleed,
But hardly anyone is ever strong enough, 
Most have to watch the drifting fade,
And feel a part of their heart and soul,
Drift along with them.