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If not for that single candle;
flickering as the estranged fingers
of hope-filled-life
caress and tickle
in foreign affection;
the days would be long
and shadow traced


and so I find
the silhouette of lost soul
crouched down in the forgotten corner
attempting to blend,
submerge
into memories of too long ago 

as the shades of day
grow older.
the shadows of night
come to haunt

the fleeting body 
of immortal longing
craves to grasp hold of the synergy
that emerges 
from kindred lovers
as life taunts relentless
with hints and wisps
of dream fulfilled prophecies
and life-vitality 
becomes as much a phaenomenon
as the aurora
after winter solstice

but even in an ice-kissed-breath
words of passion
and compassion
cannot be frozen
to be kept

and silent echoes
of whispered nothings
fade into the darkness
of night

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EvilDear middle-finger, thank you for always standing up for...
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