Wednesday, March 3, 2010
In the distance I can hear his solemn weeping. The sounds swim around my soul pushing me towards his feverish cries. Finally when I reach him, he swiftly vanishes from with in my embrace. Frantically I search for him but he is never found.
As surely as I hear the crunching of his foot steps, I know he is real. I have seen the creases in his face, the stains in his eyes, the wearing of his spirit. Yet he is but a ghost to me. He is something that can be loved but only from a distance, an untouchable cloud, a fog that slips from my finger tips. Each step I take, the credibility of his flesh fades... Which leads me to wonder, "is this even a man or simply a mirage".
He sees me. I know, for as my sights begin gaze off to the distance, he always returns. With the aspirations never to be forgotten, he yearns to be seen.
The reunion is never painful. It is never sad. It is never resentful from the present lack of other senses, just thankful to have the gift of "sight". Its the aroma of relief.
Only momentarily do I see the soft gentle stare. As the lines across his brow become to furrow, the weeping begins to stir. As I run to him, the sobs shake the earth beneath my bare feet. I struggle, as I know my bones will soon scatter with in the dirt below.
Again, with in my embrace he retreats. Again alone, clutching the omnipresent air.
If the heavens above would allow the touch of clarity then he would really exist or is it only in reality that clarity can exist?
Until my shouts are heard above, I'm sentenced to clutch the air. I'm a hostage to his sobs with nothing to give but my most distant love.
Dedicated to.... The Phantom