colector: Re: [JournalWriting] Pieces of Craig

*big giant hug*
They brought tears to my eyes.
Light of heart,
~*~Walks~*~

Raymond <weaver0322@sbcglobal.net> wrote:

LAZURUS RISING
(a scribble in progress)

This new ardor is unsought, ill-wrought. Rather
would I tend to dead loves, spinning their myths
as old Irish women keen their departed,
dressing them with virtue uncommitted,
innocence never owned, then have dreams
of love rise in me like a Lazarus,
but from an even older, colder, tomb.

But, alas, prayers age would bless me
with a quieter soul, found no listening
ear, and fires forgotten flame again
in a too oft-scarred marrow.

I wrote this years ago, when I first began to fall in love with Craig. I found it in an old folder. I had never finished it (I have tons of unfinished work sitting in folders.) Now that he and I have been unwillingly separated, after 10 years (I'll tell that tragedy another time), maybe I will finish it.

To Him

Old man you ain't (if ever you were)
Testament to testosterone.
A warren of years have palsied your frame,
Tattooed your face with their obstinate passing,
Sucked your nectars near dry. Yet your eyes
Own endearing wonder, and seraphim choirs
Sing, still, in your breakheart smile.

Timeworn beyond rowdy indecencies,
No less ancient of years, or less weary,
I tremble from the roots at your touch.
Fires long banked incinerate again,
Yesterday's heat, and I flame
With a remembered sweet glory.

Old man, you remain my heart's Nirvana.

I wrote the above a few years into our relationship. I guess it's time to write an ending piece.

To hear the sound of the wolf is to experience a singularly moving sensual experience of wilderness. Sound of unreachable quality, seeming weird and inhuman. But not unearthly. For it is of the essence of the creature wolf: of his spirit, his being, his truth. A transcendental song that took form uncounted millennia before time was defined. Something elemental. A living call from the past. A revelation of the very Universe.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretense and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself.

Maya Angelou

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