Ancient Music

Cold. Isolated. Arms wrapped selfward in a shivering embrace. Darkness. A heavy prison of emptiness. The oppressive expanse of the confining void. The subtle and delicate wailling of listless winds.

To be liberated from this loneliness. To be severed and separated from the shrouded bars of time’s dank cage. To be free of coils and corporeal inhibitions. To be free. To breathe deep the oxygens of the spirit. To drink them in like rivers of energy. To channel a brighter hope by glimmers of opportunity.

Your star. A resonating brilliance in a universe of suffocating shadow. Piercing rays cutting through oceans of black,  to strike true the chords of my once tuneless heart.

And I sing. The rusty folds in my weathered throat remember an ancient music –  a time when such joys were commonplace in me.

You stand there. A knowing smile. No words pass lips, and yet the knowledge of a more delicate language – flawlessly executed, and perfectly true. It rings in me. I see it ring in you.


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