LOST

© Gloria Smith 2010

We are lost -- those who love, truly love, without reservation, without thought of reward, and without censorship of society; who follow their hearts no matter the road, no matter the cost.

Love is a fool -- it is blind and strong; as strong as death. It cares not about seasons or circumstance when it comes knocking.

It is born of the spirit and lives in the soul. It is not fettered with bonds of flesh but is born in the body of us all.

Foolish love... mad desire, dark crimson elixir of life -- it beckons us to drink deeply.

We pretend to resist but in the night watches of the heart we cannot but heed its call. Only the flesh is restrained but the mind, the spirit, runs headlong into danger and thrills at the quest.

How sweet the potion. How drunk the spirit, how deep the desire, how insane, how heady... I cannot die to defeat you. I cannot live without you.

Beckon on sweet siren, as you will and as you must. I will lead a revolt against you. I will fight with the sword of my will and I will lose but fight I must and fight I will until my last breath, and then... oh then you will have me at last. At last...

HEAVINESS

© Gloria Smith 2010

Ever the Golden Key is lost... the Lady surrenders her quest. I fight no more. My sword is in its sheath. My cup empty. My throat dry from crying; my soul parched. My arms empty as a poured out flask. My lips untouched. My passion calmed by the white flag of my surrender.

My loneliness owns me and I die... alone. No one calls my name. It is unknown. A soul lost in the night. I wander alone -- battered and torn.

Life held its beauty time and time ago. Love has eluded me like a deer running wild in the forest just out of view -- and so it is and so it will be.

I have fought a good fight. I was brave and true. My sword holds no one's blood but my own.

Night has overwhelmed the sunlight I once loved. I am its mistress. I abhor the darkness that invades my soul but there is no one to make me whole. No other half completes me.

I compete no more. The door is slowly closing. It creaks and groans under the weight of my discontent. My dress is satin, lace, and pearls. It lies still about me, so still about me... so still.