A Spirit's View
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An Offering

I spread myself upon a sacrificial altar,
Yearning only to be found a worthy
Offering by whatever gods may deign to look upon me,
Yet not even a glance falls down on what I so freely offer.

I live in a darkness of my own creation
With no choice but to be,
To think, to observe, in my solitude that is me,
For, though I am, I evoke no sensation:

My cries are mute to any ears other than mine;
My body is but a long-forgotten and buried coin in a land devoid of light;
My embrace is imperceptible no matter how close I hold one or how tight;
A ghost at least is offered the choice of a draught of wine.

I see, but only the shadows;
I smell the flower after it has died;
I taste, I feel the substance that has long since moved aside;
I hear only the lingering echoes.

Damned through no fault of my own
I am cursed by my very existence,
Sentenced simply to be the sum of my essence,
To live as only I forever will, do, and have done--

Doomed to watch, fated to learn, forced to dream, but unable to achieve,
I move in, around, and among
Always a part of, but never as one,
And, though I pass on, I cannot leave.

I continue to live, to strive; I cannot just be.
I must act, must struggle, must try,
Constantly mourning my unheeded cry.
I go on, fighting to open the eyes of those who will never see.
--~{@}~--


Borrowed Soul

It looks down on her, mocking and sneering:
Chilling her to the core,
Freezing her blood in the conduits suddenly gone cold,
Drowning her heart's fire in her own anguished tears,
Paralyzing her thoughts, and numbing her senses.

It follows her;
She cannot escape from its gaze:
Haunting her like the phantom apparition,
The hideous ghoul, the long-dead demon spirit,
Or the forgotten shell of a soul that it is.

It glares at her:
Hating her without a reason and not needing one,
Yearning to destroy her, torture her,
Alienate her, humiliate her,
And to break her will.

It watches her constantly, tirelessly,
Endlessly, and relentlessly,
Yet so impassive, distracted,
And, most of all, apathetic.

It sees her, sees all,
All with the same gaze,
Glazed, indifferent, calculated, icy, removed,
And blind.
It is like a glass eye:
Full, clear, distinct,
Wandering, unfathomable, unfocused,
Pitiable, hard, solitary, and lifeless.

It knows no compassion, no fear,
Its past is so distant as to be immemorial;
The suffering, the pain, the hurt, and the heartache
Are wiped from its present existence
As if they had never been.

It is soulless,
Empty,
And not even seeking to be filled.
Hope is lost, solace is unattainable,
Understanding is gone, and peace is passed.

It feels nothing;
The turmoil bothers it no more.
She alone occupies its eye;
It knows not why,
Only that, somehow, they are one.

It spies something in her that is so familiar,
But its memory is non-existent;
It will never comprehend
The binds so firmly tying it to her.

She knows,
For her soul was once its own.
She possesses all that it once had,
Knowing also her duty to her former self.
She knows her life is borrowed
And fears the day that the moon will reclaim its loan.
--~{@}~--


Hold the Flame

Like a passionate kiss of a lover,
It kindles a fire inside;
It empowers the soul with a raging heat
From a source that will never die.

The eternal inferno finds a home,
Though temporary it may be,
With a spirit like unto its own--
Ever longing, but ne'er to be free.

Its caress arouses the senses
To an awareness in a higher plain;
But a gift of the spirits is often
A pleasure, yet a far greater pain.

The fire that was once an intruder
Now co-exists within my frame.
I breathe into it the life it gave me
When the passion in me was touched off:
To teach all those who would hear me
The way that was not dead, but lost.
The things it taught and showed me
I bear with me as I hold the flame.
--~{@}~--


Revelation

With minds still in awestruck wonder
Two souls' attraction is affirmed
As bodies draw together
The mutual affinity is confirmed;
As well acquainted as strangers,
Known to be kindred nonetheless;
Instant passion and intimacy of lovers
Is unleashed in the first embrace.
Every movement a practiced art,
Sensualist's pleasure in masochist's time;
Eyes once locked unable to part,
Communion unhindered through sensation sublime;
Joy inexpressable
In the innocence of newfound youth;
Nothing unattainable,
All sacred in the purity of truth.
Sustained on the crescendo of closeness,
Subject to the sympathies evoked,
Awareness so complete, focus so intense,
Any thought not of the other is revoked.
A shared breath, a brush of lips,
Simplicity elevated to another plain,
A touch of hands, a smile's soft glow
Magnified for mutual gain;
Infinite is the glory,
The aura of a wanderer come home;
Intermingled will a part remain,
Neither ever again to be alone.
--~{@}~--


In the Dark

Whispers of the ages
Meet in the darkness of your night,
Waxing, waning,
Sighing, crying,
Just beyond your blinded sight.

After the whispers fade away
Their haunting echoes are left behind,
Like the morning bell
At the gates of hell
Counts the days in eternal time.

Then the echoes join together
In a singular, piercing scream.
Around you whirl
The cries of the world,
Hypnotizing you with their mindless keen.

Gradually the screams lessen
To half-heard voices in the dark,
Telling you,
Showing you,
And placing their messages in your heart.
--~{@}~--


Night Heart

All that is in night is in me;
Find the night, and you will find me.
Its thick darkness is my blood
Driving through the pulsating stillness of my heart.
Its cold air is my breath
Filling me with the life it lost.
The moon is my eye
Watching my kindred spirits around me.
The night sky is my skin,
It covers, surrounds, and protects me.
It gives feel and substance
To the shadows moving in and around me.
The night is my life, my love.
It is the meaning to my existence,
If not my existence itself.
In it, I am whole and part of the whole.
I am free in the heart of the night.
--~{@}~--


Becoming Wraith

Countenance haunted by hopes unfulfilled,
Hollow eyes of veiled doubt and pain,
A body grown thin, muscles become weak:
The symptoms of a soul torn in twain.

An essence withered to mere shadows
Of the vitality that once filled this abode
The wraith only remaining of the sacrifice
Made so the whole could travel this road.

Why give so much to be yoked to such sorrow?
If offered again the same choice would be made.
Some ideals are priceless, some values too great,
So important they never do fade.

Though cloaked in darkness, there's yet light within this form,
By consuming the fuel of self it's kept bright.
This is for what is given so much, but
What does it mean to this heart of the night?

This flame of self once burned so high
Warm in the glow of hopes and dreams,
But an intruder took up residence near the beacon,
A parasite revealing truth to be other than it seemed.

Far flew the dreams; few became hopes,
Those left tainted or taken away.
The self struggled for life weighed down by new fate;
All dear was destroyed, no joys the grief to assay.

The self withered slowly at first
Then faster, occasionally making small gains.
No matter how strong, eventually will fall
The subject of two souls' reigns.

There is a path to freedom, but closed by the gate of belief.
Somehow suffering is made sweeter on the road so rough
By having a purpose to give to, a small choice in decline.
There are friends and loves, who for the wasting one pine,
But what good is love when it isn't enough?
--~{@}~--


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