She Comes at Night

As silky strands of memories it passes my mind, the time when I had my wife in my arms, caressing her soul and body with my words and hands, feeling her hear beat of true love. If only I had known then what I know now, this pain would not reside in myself like it does, I miss giving her love.

But my love was tainted in immaturity, and selfishness, I longed to be filled by another due to part being unknown about me. I was in no position to be a husband, much less a self. My curse will be solitude for my error. This world offers me no other, I have looked, much to loss of energy in myself due to further bad decisions with woman, my desperate heart, aching to love again like it has.

Now, there is a shell around the center of love in my heart, I contain what is now my reality, my fate, and I am prepared to wander still, alone the rest of my days. I do still have the flame within, but keep it in from the rain, and darkness that follows, I am only human. The human need to love and gain love is as old as we ourselves, and sharing the Royal bond between a man and wife, in the true union of the Spirit of Love, is something in which all of Humankind has been trying to define and articulate for ages, never to completely achieve the goal.

I see her from afar, busy, distracted, obsessed in the realm of herself, floating on the breeze of space and time. I catch up to her, only to find her footprints in the clouds, darting of then to another place this time, only to have me run along after her again, this tempting chase, following her scent, I find her everywhere, and nowhere. It is just an illusion after all, and I am chasing my imagination, or is her soft flesh there somewhere, slilently being offered as a cup of healing?

I trodden not on the anticipations of my hearts imagination, for what a cruel vessel of myself I would be. I only dream of the soft rain, while cuddled up to my wife, smelling her hair, as it blends the particles of the watery cloud, with her sweetfully attracting pheromones that she emanates when where around one another, her eyes say the desire and love she has for me, while knowing mine offer the same to her.

I again change the subject of my mind, and think of the wind outside, this really only furthers the problem, I need to rest.

Transcending through self

A question is only a mirror of the questions that the answers bring. Our of fear and complacency we will argue not, for the sake of the rest between the two states, fear of the unknown questions that all answers bring.


Outside; at the place of the pictures where I grew up, smoking the death of addiction. The light of small town glows on the bottom layers of the clouds, strange feeling permeates the night, the unknown again knocks at my soul, this time the depth and gravity outweigh all before, and will after. I utter sayings in my ear of the wisdom of ago, hoping that I will listen, but more out of desperation. I will not. I can not, out of desperation. That would be disrespectful of such a small soul, as we all are in reality. I come back inside, empty of what I originally wanted to say, it evaporating from the mind only to be filled with another something.


When did we all forget, forget the knowledge of childhood, and the ways of true innocence? Have we really forgotten, or has vanity taken hold in the many? What are we? What is 'really' known? Or were we at childhood more grounded in wisdom of truth than the beleaguered adults we have become? But how is this so when children are so ignorant of the 'real' reality? Do we then gain true wisdom and truth from ignorance? How can the truth be compatible with ignorance; which is not knowing something that is true? Is it true then that truth has no part that is ignorant? If that where true, then truth being ignorance would signify truth as being false, which leads one back to the beginning of 'what is truth'. What of children learning everything from adults? That means that everything we know came from what we are now ' adults', and I am more uncertain of what truth is than ever before in my life, and there have been many older adults whom seem to feel as well that the more one ages, the more uncertain everything becomes. And this is what children really learn, a continuing cycle of questions leading to answers that eventually lead back to questions. There is to much abstractness right now, even for me, I need to clearly see more, before my mouth bubbles forth.