To the Mysterious Goddess, a heart-filled song.
What language does my heart speak to yours? Can you hear it? Can you feel, in the depths of your soul, the lyrics on which I rest?
Are my dreams but a one way street? Do I sit in active stillness, feeling you, hearing you, sensing your very existence as part of some game my mind plays on itself? Are the promises of a beating heart nothing but idle fantasy; a dream of some heart healed knowing it will surely die alone?
What does the figment of my dream need to do to complete the masterpiece my heart so implores be painted?
To the gods I beg an answer. In mortality only the whisper of a winter’s wind replies.
It’s so easy to give up hope for the brethren I know around me. The insanity of a world gone senile, the lies bantered about like the sullen oaths of a drunken man. Our hearts have been so covered with the concrete of our misgivings that they cannot beat to save themselves. The mind, once crisp with the delight of a child seeing truth for the very first time, dies next. All that is left after our earthly carnage is the shell of flesh meandering about like a zombie; lost and not knowing, helplessly divine yet not knowing its own immeasurable greatness.
I beg for something else. An enlightened soul free from the games of its parents, a strong and courageous warrior free from her bullshit testament of power. She finds her greatest strength when her knees buckle, her greatest power when she freely submits to a truth she not only makes love to, but shares as freely as the breath she exhales. A kindred spirit is she, together we are team unstoppable in the annuls of lives meant for such a purpose. We shall roar together in the windswept plains, and climb each and ever mountain we face in rugged simplicity.
I do not need luxury save the moments I am bathed in your attention. I do not need comfort save the moments I am swaddled in your arms. I do not seek for pleasure outside the whispers you sing to me in the night, in the breaking of the dawn, in the nestling of the Sun at high noon. I need no drink save what is offered me from your chalice, and I need no truth save the testament you offer when your hand takes mine, and off we climb again.
Yes, I sing to you this night, unafraid. There are no demons in the shadows of my mind, and no monsters tucked neatly in the closets of my soul. Either there is courage in you or there isn’t, either there is truth in your veins or nothing we can share.
Soon, another night, another dream. Goodnight, and I will meet you somewhere, sometime, and await your answer.