Certain silent journeys of the soul are best narrated by waterfalls of words and images. Sometimes, words hunt down the image and at other times, the image conjures and clusters words. Here’s the journey… the one, which was never meant to have a destination.
She's a whisper
She’s a
whisper, a whisper of tears
that moves me to a smile;
She’s the frozen anger, flows within
in the
muted aisle.
She’s
the silence , a deafening one
that wrenches my soul.
But, she has eyes that quietly speak
in
green lush cajole.
Dragging silts of sorrow,
she’s
the pain that numbs all pain.
My past, present, and future;
eternity lingers in the darn hard rain.
She’s a
beauty, o she’s beautiful!
A beautiful enchanting mist.
She’s the
spark that’ll burn me forever
and I won’t even resist.
She’s the
chrysalis’ darkness
that a butterfly must achieve,
She’s the
quietus I died
before life would let me live.
Yes,
she’s the one, the one,
who will remain within
when the ship departs the shore.
Ah,
she’s the one, the one,
who will remain in me
when I’ll remain no more.
