Saturday, July 14, 2012


Oh little nymph who flits and flirts in and out of sight, a wraith, a sprite, a million things I could not name or tame, will you not bequeath your little wildling heart to me? Coax with soft spoken words the latent life which lies hid beneath the topmost barren soil in my soul; a beautiful garden is wont to grow, should it be entrusted to your hands. Your voice sounds like the murmuring of a brook over a stony bed, soft, nurturing, sparking to life an oft leashed happiness, and with a few words, you could paint me with a smile that no one else could hope to endeavour to reproduce. Without you, I may seem that I am already smiling, but my hooded self stands with head bowed, cowed by the solitary emptiness which surrounds me. Should our eyes meet across the space between the weeping willow leaves as they billow in the breeze, then I perhaps will cease to fear our distance.

Wonderful water nymph, tree nymph, fire nymph, Goddess of Untouchable Things, we too shall meet Death along his well worn path, cloaked and shadowed in the billions of souls he has claimed, but if we dance along the way and take part in merriment, in joy of each other, could we not say that a sleep is needed?

We must begin in, for who but us could take the first steps in replenishing our thirsty, withered selves? One glance is all that is needed to spark a life long encounter, and we have had more than one. Though they have been brief and short lived, no more than a deliberate meeting of the eyes and an embarrassed flickering away, our bodies unable to withstand the conditioning of urban solitude, they showed that there is more than nothing, though something less than a solidity between us, and it is ready to melt away at the barest hint of uncertainty. We - I - cannot let it, for without you, my dearest nymph, I crumble again into dust and ashes, my solidity of self evaporated in the wake of your presence.

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