Frayed Feisty Threads - Book IV

The silent harp 6/9/1996

Whatever made me think I could let you back into my life and walk away unscathed? The after shocks left me breathless and trembling for hours. They were sporadic, you know, and would come at the most inopportune time...and I would gasp at the pleasure of the memory and the intensity of the feeling. If I were to fall in love with anyone, it would be you. I can still feel your arms about me, caressing my shoulders, and hugging me close.

I almost wanted to laugh when you were so concerned about why I was not able to fully experience the intensity of your offerings. You missed the point of all I have ever said or tired to say to you. For that to happen, I had to decide to let myself feel, to look at you, to connect with those blue eyes of yours, and to let you connect with mine. To see those lights dancing in your eyes again.... and I could not. I could not give myself fully to you.

Tears of passion and of joy rained a maelstrom of dissent on my soul. The feel of your body next to mine, your life, your vitality, your sheltering arms, and the comfortable place for me to rest my head....it more than my heart ever desired.

It was fitting that you should come into my life on this day of endings and partings, of children and parents gone. You, who left me my heart, returned, like Lancelot, to claim your prize.

Only this time, it would not be yours for the taking. For the door was bolted, though not locked. My tears were protesting my inability to deny you your pleasure, and reflecting the struggle of my soul. What could you do, you wondered. Again, my heart replied to you...silently....nothing.

In truth, I was buying time. Time for my soul to collect itself and put my heart, and my feelings away. Time to find a mask that I could wear that would not reveal me. Within me the struggle rippled and cascaded like a softly muted harp.

I had longed for this day, hoped to have you back in my arms, to hold, to love, to touch, to play and laugh. Now, I wish that it had never come. For the parting requires such dissolution of soul and self, that I will be numb for days. I will wipe you from my memory, and forget that you were ever in my life. It was a dream, you see, it was not a real. For to make it real requires acknowledgment of soul and spirit, to make it “real", as the Velveteen rabbit knows, requires love.

Love does not play its song for us; the harp falls silent. My spirit is dissolved and my soul knows you not.



tuc
June 9, 1996
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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.~~Robert Frost