Reclaiming You.

Another night alone:
Once more the door before me
Stained with time into the wood
Opens to the first path of stone
As again I step into the labyrinth.

Time works differently here:
It is slower than inspiration
As time pauses to let me go ahead
It pauses to watch flowers
Colouring itself in sleepy restfulness.

I had a dream, although I think I know it happened, you handed me a rose that
wilted as I held it. Bright red petals turned dark brown, as I struggled to
prevent them from falling. But then I fell as well. I and the rose petals left
you, traveling down down down arriving on the floor of my room, knowing you
were lost to me as a thousand brown petals lay at my feet.

I have searched every night:
Making my way through the labyrinth
Every night a different story, different struggle
To make my way back to you
To try to pull you back with me.

I have found you three times now:
But then, something happens
A twist, a skip, a falling away
Once more my mind shifts
As I lose you for another night.

I don't know if you know this, I haven't been able to talk to you much,
existing in other worlds makes communication difficult sometimes, you know.
I saved the rose you gave me, as I sped away to my own time. I even saved all
of the thousand petals, I have a whole drawer full of them, just to remind
me of you.


Tonight I try the labyrinth again:
The paths are never the same
But tonight even I could be magic
For once even the paths agree
As I eventually make my way to you.

Then you look at me:
For such a sad love in your eyes,
I would like to place the moon in your heart
I would live in your world
Or speed your love to match mine.

Poor rose; it was not the fault of the flower that it was as slow as the
giver. The speed that it wilted and dried in my hands did not measure the love
of the gift. Instead it only tried to show me how many barriers were yet to
face before I could bring you home.

I am the one bearing presents now:
For you I have brought a box of rosewood
Hoping it will protect the inner contents
A pair of golden angel wings, starlight tipped
That I hope may free you someday.

A pass through the separation:
I give the box, smaller than my fist
Carved with my hopes for your freedom
In giving, our hands brush
The magic of what is not tingles between us.

The touch can only last a moment, though, once more the fall begins, speeding
me back to my night alone. Down down down I wonder if I will ever stop this
fall.
But as I look up, so very high, there you are. Beyond our boundries you fly,
your winds glowing in the night, and you yourself are a thousand stars.

I open my eyes and my room is filled with rose petals, all bright red.

2 responses total.

Oooh.  Wow.

My professional imperative is to write to remove all ambiguity,
and that leaks over into my personal style.  *This* is full of
fuzzy images laden with possibilities.

Is this "other" a person in real life, or a creature of dreams?
The roses mean love, but what kind?  What kind of abyss forces
the separation?  Life changes is an easy guess, but I don't see
anything that rules out the wall between dreams and waking
reality or even life and death.  Could "my own time" be the
desire to bring someone's existence back to the present; could
the urge to give freedom mean to liberate the deceased from the
grave, or the fantasy from the daydream, or something as mundane
as doing away with the geographic tyranny of different schools?

Deep.

ooohhh..  ethereal and feels like a lucid dream.  It just flows and 
flows.  I really really liked the mystique that just seems to hang and 
float in my mind as I read it.  Very striking.

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