Past all things,
past all useless thougths
and drunken meanderings,
beyond the pages of self-loving pity
and false righteousness,
lies the core of the matter.
Perhaps words are only used
to cloak and obscure
the soul of the writer from
the prying eyes of the many.
Or the few.
But beyond the moments,
typing furiously on a borrowed computer,
lavishing the screen with simple rhymes
and even simpler concepts on borrowed time,
there lies the girl,
or the woman,
who sits inside the fool
sitting in the chair.
She is beyond all things frivolous
Who is she?
in the depths of the mind,
out of the reach of despair,
Who is the thing that resides there?
when all is still
and there are no superfulous thoughts
to muddy the moment,
And her voice is rare.
She is wise beyond words,
beyond time and light.
Who lies at the core of the person?
What makes the soul yearn for
those things undefined?
By all accounts,
we all function and move of our own free will,
no guidance needed.
And yet, things speak to us,
whisper in the light of a sunset on the ocean,
scream in the black of night.
How do I reach her?
She is buried underneath
so much banality and so much self-doubt.
And although I cannot see her,
I can sense her
and her essence is life itself,
wild and untamed,
yet disarmingly intelligent
She is everything,
the reincarnated past,
the foretold future.
What is it that lies within us all
that causes us to fly from our bodies
on occasion to places unknown
and undescribable even in our dreams?
I seek her out,
despite the improbable nature of such a search.
Perhaps we are not meant
to come face to face with our crux.
Perhaps it is to act as a strange current
that moves us in ways we cannot comprehend
or as a stain that colors our thoughts in certain places.
But I seek her out.
She is within me, looking out.
I would like to be her, seeing with her eyes,
thinking with her mind
and knowing all that she knows.
I don't fancy I'll find her.
© Copyright 2016 Violet Vane. All rights reserved.