It was year's end, a couple years after my affair with my muse ended, and it had proven true. I had kept the gift of poetry. Even then, having moved on, with a new lover, and she a new muse, even so the fire of words are still in me. After five years we too are no longer together, but are still friends. My last lover gifted me with music, leading to choirs, to solos, both instrumental and vocal, to the repair and return of my 1967 Martin O-18 guitar, to better music all around. Still in 2003 I was able to write this to the Maid of the Deepest Moon who once was everything to me.
To You My Love, This Season
Ever in my heart, I am grateful for what has happened between us.
It is a piece of the soul's story, a flowering of the Beloved, eternal.
When you take me in, even a little, the present tense of the Infinite
Returns and lifts me into Beauty. I say my love, you illumine my sky.
Truly not you as you struggle here and now, no not you like that.
Truly you as you cascade through all time and space, as we all do.
Maid of the Deepest Moon, you shine, you light a symphony of love -
And me, the Man of the Northern Wall, alight for all time through this.
This is what you have given me, what survives chaos and all pain.
This is what I celebrate in my best moments far beyond our dream.
As I travel on, when I can remember, I choose to sing the moon
And stars and the perfume of you lingers near my heart, calling me.
I shall never be lost again, not as I once was. Now I dance
To songs I know to sing. My heart stays open for you and beyond
To others as I must, following the call bigger than you or me
Until we meet at the other end of this time and claim our true home.
(This is why I pray I do not depart ever in the chaos
Of lost love, but if depart we must to keep the truth alive.)
April Poetry Month
18 hours ago