Dear Delilah

The white wings of an ember untouched, flickering like a dim light.
A voice calls out. Is it a whisper? Or is it a cry?
Why does my heart ache, yet yearn for such radiance?
Does it feel a need? Does it require a once before unknown sustenance?

Her eyes illuminate; brighten the dark.
A gaze so pure, yet invigorating, peaceful.
Yet so seemingly dastardly. And at the same time tranquil.
Could this be a meaning deeper than anything?

Why call? The mind beckons to retreat, but the heart demands to press on.
I need her.
Her soft eyes gaze into mine. What does she see in me?
What is it that I feel? Do I accept or reject?

Rejection cannot be the answer. The blackened snow blankets the lush green of the land.
There is but a gift, but is it really?
It IS a gift, one more endearing than anything I have received.
The gift of what many call love.

What sort of devotion, yet in many forms, does it take?
It's blissful. A dream rather a nightmare.
My knees weaken as I gaze at her.
Yet we are not standing near.

She is a distant soul, connected only by passion.
We speak spiritually, mentally.
She sees me, a wanderer, who continues to search for an answer.
She speaks a message, but what is it?

I know not what to do. My heart is fleeting, running away with itself.
Do I follow? I am unaware, yet I must know.
I DO follow - follow her to the ends of the Earth.
She is the guide to my mountain, the wind beneath my wing.

As a passionate one, truth lies within the mystery.