Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Forbidden Dawn

FORBIDDEN DAWN - Written by Carroll Bryant



If I spoke of her golden hair that gently clings over her shoulders like a rainbow so soft, you may not know whom it is that I speak of with such passion, hunger, and desire. 

If I mention her green diamond eyes, that sparkle like the sun off of a clear blue lake that reveals the Lords angels, you may know not that of whom I dream of with such desperation, determination, and consequence. 

If I described her face, that brightly shines like a full moon in the dead of a winters night, with a coyote howling in the distance to its lost spirit, you still may remain baffled as to whom it is that I adore more than and any other living soul. 

If I told you of her lips, so perfect to kiss, and tempting, that even a priest may wander off his righteous course to touch with no regret, or no hope of salvation, you still may not have the slightest of clues as to whom it is I am referring to. 

Her beauty is so powerful, it will knock you to your shaking knees. Her persona is so wonderful, she will steal the breath from your beating heart. Her ways are so innocent, she is a lamb in a cave of grizzly bears. Her mere presence is striking enough to tear through the darkest regions of my ever-after. The potential of her love leaves me a fool of life. My forsaken eyes that catch her sight. My forsaken dreams linger like a zeppelin floating across the sky. Her existence exudes from every pore of my body. My flesh. 

Is this the love I have searched for from heaven, to hell, and back again? Is this the miracle of miracles That i so boldly refused to believe in, and accept? 

My swift encounter with the holy god had ended long ago, thus, coming back around to simply slap me in my unholy face, and reawaken my senses to a more powerful belonging than that of my own and certainly not that of what I expected, or planned for. 

So, what of my heart now?
For what dusty road does my weary soul travel?

Is she the light at the end of life's tunnel? Or is she simply a vision of a blind man? An apparition that seeks my energy? Is she a song to deaf ears? The voice of a mute? 

Oh, indeed, if I spoke of her warm touch, even if by accident we melt together for a passing moment of time, the sensations that execute all through my quivering veins would surely pump the blood of life, and of love. A pure love. The purest of them all. I know that without a doubt you would never know of the sweet creature that god created, and of whom I dwell my hopes on. My beliefs. 

And yet, if she were to walk into a room, a room that you and I were to occupy, then indeed, by the wishes of my love and life, you would know exactly whom it was I've been speaking of the whole damn time. 

For certain, I know, I cannot hide from this feeling inside. Nor have I the Divine right to deny the storm of truth that swirls within me. Thus, placing my faith and existence in her fragile hands - and heart. 

Yes, I could spend an eternity ten times over describing this unicorn of fantasy to you, to every living beast in the universe and no, not one damn life form of dust particle could attest as to whom it was I was talking about. But then, let this most perfect being reflect her deep presence within my own sorrowed blue eyes, and thoult shalt everyone, without constitution, know of whom it is that holds the seeds of my happiness in the palm of her sacred heart, her sacred hands, her sacred love. 

And upon your discovery of my Divine loved ones identity, ridicule me at your own will; my expense, if you must. I shall not be ashamed, but more proud of my own mortality that you, the common, may never understand fully, or come to terms with. Nor believe.

Indeed, watch my acknowledgement upon her entrance and thoult shalt everyone, share in the wisdom of her identity, and feel the rust from my inner pain of loneliness of not feeling the returned favor. She is, and will always be, my final pain. My final glee. 


    

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