that once and glorious Because

 

 

 

she had never known a feeling such as this before . . . the midsummer’s eve of her life, up to this moment, had left her wanting, had left the bittersweet taste of regret, of seas not sailed, of horizons not found, and tomorrows not lived . . . and of love once glimpsed, once touched, once embraced, but now, as elusive as the fragrance of roses, there, yet not seen, there, yet not felt, only a whisper, and not quite a promise . . .

the fruits of her labors were abundant, and her memories lasting and long-savored . . . her family, her home, her husband, her son, all were precious jewels in the richness of her life, the elements of a contentment that once shone like a crown . . . but all were becoming the faded images in the portrait of her soul, like the dust of an age lying quietly on the windowsills of Yesterday, like blue-gray ivy adorning the walls of her mind, like phantoms, like butterflies, weaving through the empty corridors of her heart . . .

 

 

from The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller’s Dream  The Kiss, of Always

 

 

 

The Voyage of Kings ~ A StoryTeller's Dream

 

buy the new Digital and Print Editions on Amazon and Barnes&Noble

 

 

in The Silence, of Regard

.

.

.

All Things Clear

(  More,  than Ever  )

 

 

it is no longer about who or what I do not have,  or have so recently lost,

but of a far deeper,  and more meaningful Embrace,  within The Arms

of every Blessing now held in a Symphony of Moments that

      colors this Sunset of My Days left here on Earth . . .

 

and of Those I imagine still,  with such everlastingly beautiful sadness,

I can only hope They are quite safe,  and quite sound,  and Their every breath

fills Their sky with unspeakable Wonder,  and a Peace like no other tells Them

that Their Days will be long savored,  and abundant,  and spent so very

     far away from harm,  and well within the absence,  of fear . . .

 

yet alas I am diminished,  for in the purpose,  place or proximity once

filled by Their glorious Presence,  there endures only a whisper of an echo

of What Was,  so,  time and again I turn to Remember,  where They dwell, 

      whose Memory holds nothing less,  than The Best Days,  of My Life . . .

.

.

.

of gossamer’d Wing

 

 

 

By The Light, of A Lamp

 (  of Love  )

  

 

while I can only imagine, The Essence of Your Bouquet,

You are,  as a Rose or a very fine Wine . . . SomeOne

to savor and cherish,  for a very long Time . . . Your

Words possess an eternal quality,  while Longing

      and Desire,  vie,  for Your commitment to Reason . . .

it is an honor sharing this place with One as gifted

and as graced as You,  and if I,  am so ever fortunate

 enough to know a Heart, that whispered a Thought such

                 as This . . .         *

         ”   become the          *

white angels of

   a desperate winter  

 I would surely count Myself as present,

      when asked,  if I,  Ever saw,  Perfection . . .

 

 

 

 

 

The Quotation was posted by Sharon Gould 

on May 1st, 1998,  from Poets & Writers

Forum #7.1893 in  of Love,  Again

 

from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Fifth DoveTale – The Circle of Heaven

 

 

 

by The Light of an August Moon

 

 

 

Her AbundanSea

 

 

 

The Angel of Happiness,  sails Her Vessel,

 across The Oceans of Promise,  over

endless Waters of Tomorrow,

in search,  of The Place,

where Wishes,  ride

Horses,  as Stars

never Fall,  and

Candles,  are lit,

For Ever,  and On,

The Place where Hope and

Pray,  dance with Fulfillment,  and

May Be sings to Come What Might,

yet,  Always,  and for Most,  You

can only see Her standing at

The Rail of Sighs,  as

You wait,  on

The Shores

of Longing,  for

You can only embrace

this elusive Angel,  while She colors

      The Corridors of Your Heart,  with The Air,  of Content . . .

 

 

from Book III, The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Sixth DoveTale – The Trials of Ecstasy

 

 

 

from this Moment, on

 

 

 

The River,  in My Hands

 (  and Arms Wide Open  )

­

 

 

 * 

She

moves

as Liquid,

through Each

and Every Corridor

of My Hope-weary Heart,

bathing This Desert of Longing

      in Her Sweet Waters of FullFillMeant . . .

and All The While,  flowing,  SumWhere

within Reach of All Things Dear,  gliding

between A Wink,  and A Promise,  and

wrapped in The Sounds,  of Her

Amazing Grace,

are

The Very Words

I have walked The Millennia to

hear,  flying Now,  like Diamonds,  across

this UniVerse,  between She and Me,  through a Crack in

      The Sky,  into The Tear in My Eye,  yes to herald The Reign,  of Joy . . .

and with a Voice borne inside The Breath of Eternity,  pouring Forth,  from

 The Panorama of Her Smile,  and as I bow My Head in The Presence of Her

Majesty,  She raises Her lovely Hands,  and lifts My Face toward The Light

      of All Creation,  and then,  She whispers,  WellCome Home,  Angel . . .

 

 

 

 from Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Twelfth DoveTale – The Symphony of Moments

 

 

and far beyond The Reach

 

 

In The Arms,  of By and By

 (  The Circle,  is Unbroken,  Still  )

 

 

*

*

*

in

The

Morning

of Love,  Again,

and seen,  Living,  in

The Eyes of a Butterfly,

as told,  by an Iron Horse,

there came from The East,

a great and winged Flyer of

endless Velocity and Grace,

sailing low in The Sky,  aloft

in The Glory of The Sun,  Up 

in The Path of Her Spirit Wind,

moving as Liquid above The Sea,

having flown,  All The Days of Infinity,

having endured the long dark Kiss,  of Night,

the Fire Dove glides to rest upon The Rail of Sighs,

and,  She looks,  out across These Shores of Her Longing, 

remembering a Morning long Ago,  when an Ibis,  born Resolute,

began Her Voyage to Avalon,  bearing This Burden of Destiny’s Heart,

This Crown of Roses,  who Now lays Them,  Here,  at The Feet of Yesterday,

who smiles,  and gazes toward Hope,  who turns,  in Time,  to see A Wink,  dancing

in The Eye of So It Shall Be,  while There,  in The Distance,  rising Up through The Mist,

with a Terrible Beauty,  bound for  Moments Yet to Come,  and a Purpose known only to God,

laughing with The Moon,  goes Ever,

The Last ThunderBird,

     Home . . .

 

 

 

from Book I, The Diamond ( First Light ) The Ninth DoveTale – The Windmills of Eden

 

 

when Longing weds Desire

 

 

 

The Promise 

  

 

               I gaze out upon The Sea,  as The Dawn slowly pours over Me . . . It’s brilliant Pageant of Light dances upon My Bed of Jewels,  where I laid,  under a Blanket of Stars,  to while away The Night’s Passage . . . after a Moment’s Reflection,  and a Prayer to All Things Dear,  I set out toward The Palace,  Once Again,  along The Shores of Eden,  along This Path of Tears . . . and in The Time of A Wink,  My Eyes behold an Image,  a Woman,  of profound Splendor,  walking toward Me,  as if I,  were Her Intent,  as if I,  were Her Reason . . . beside Myself with Wonder,  I could only Hope . . .

                Still,  at a Distance,  for I cannot yet see Her Eyes,  Her Body pleases Me . . . The Sand,  The Sea,  The Sky . . . All are in extreme Clarity,  yet All are completely intangible . . . My Focus is The Spectral Masterpiece in front of Me . . . My Adrenaline is a fevered rush,  and I must command the last vestiges of My Self-Control to resist shattering . . . I keep walking,  struggling to maintain a bearing of Serenity,  and forge onward . . .

                I feel Invincible,  though dwarfed by The Magnitude of Her Presence . . . I am Alone,  with My Trepidation . . . I am Alone,  with Her . . . She moves,  as Liquid,   with a Grace that startles Me,  and She is as Natural to Her Surroundings as is Sunlight,  possessing a Radiance all Her Own . . . She is closer . . . I can see The Smile I have sailed The Millennia to see . . .

                The Sense of Time has abandoned Me,  along with involuntary impulses to breathe . . . Feeling has left My Fingertips,  and My Vision,  save for Her Aspect,  is dimmed beyond Acuity . . . External Light sources are fading,  and All Sound is in retreat . . . conventional Mind synapses are lost,  and core Body functions subsist on primal drive . . . My Mind,  or what remains of It,  is a spinning Vortex of pure,  white hot Awe . . . My Heart,  echoes The Roar and Velocity,  of a Triphammer . . .

                 Her Eyes . . . Eyes that could send Armies into Oblivion,  cause Empires to rise and fall,  The Seasons to unwind,  Suns to blink,  and ordinary Men to Their Knees . . . Windows to Galaxies . . . Her Eyes,  Thresholds to The Oceans of Awareness,  and All that lies beyond The Realm of Understanding . . . and Somehow,  despite the immense Universe of Her Aura,  I remain standing,  walking,  closer . . .

                 The Air seems to be vibrating softly,  but with a Purpose,  as if The Sky were about to crack from The Intensity of mere Thought . . . I have stepped within,  surrounded,  by The Colors of Her Essence . . . as Her Voice crosses The Distance between Us,  spilling over Me like Cool Water . . . I can see Her Words,  flying,  like Jewels across The Cyan Sky,  and I am The Sky . . . She is speaking to My Heart . . . to Me . . . I am spellbound by The Intimacy,  and I must respond and I cannot,  for My Voice became dust,  long ago . . . Closer is no longer possible,  for I am,  where Here,  Is . . .

                Stonemasons,  Artisans,  Poets,  Painters,  and Sculptors down through Antiquity,  have never captured The Loveliness of a Goddess such as She . . . Her Face,  is a Classic Vista of Wonder and Perfection . . . A Mirror of flawless crystal could never cast a Likeness to compare with The Beauty before Me . . . and I am Ever humbled,  in The Presence of Her Majesty . . .

                 I am within Her . . . I am born Anew,  yet I have lost all Sense of Self . . . Desire has become My Master, though We have yet to Touch,  for I feel I would require The Sanctification of Nature to do so . . . yet She,  as if knowing My Thoughts,  and with The Grace of a Swan,  nods Her Head,  and slowly raises Her Hand,  toward My Face . . .

                No Man,  Gone or yet Lived,  has known of This Rapture,  even in Dreams . . . The Fire of Anticipation rivals The Core of The Sun,  burning All Senses . . . to be touched by Paradise,  is to be made One with Her . . . I have never imagined being worthy of This Gift,  of This Ecstasy . . . oh yes,  to dance with The Muse,  in whose Embrace awaits the seldom heard Whisper,  of Fulfillment . . .

                Her Hand caresses My Face,  as She would The Wind,  like Silk across My Skin . . . The Rhythm of Life flows through Her,  and electrifies My Soul . . . and in The Breath of A Moment,  I know All that is in Her Heart,  for She has given Me Her Own . . . She is Earth,  She is Air,  She is Light,  She is The Dawn . . . I stand before Creation’s Daughter,  and I am blessed,  for She,  is The Angel of Love . . .

                 I am wrapped,  within The Music of Her Being,  and I,  begin,  to cry . . .

 

 

 

from A StoryTeller’s Dream ( Dream I ) The Second DoveTale – The Pillow of Hope

and

Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Seventh DoveTale – The Robes of Honor