Monday, October 31, 2011



By Melanie Anne Phillips

In the quiet of the night,
My heart wakens,
Flying free above a land I do not know.

And yet, familiar is the realm below.
It stirs some long forgotten harmony,
Of hazy evenings past.

There was a time,
(do not lament),
there is a time again….

Here, in this moment, this feeling,
I soar above my mind,
Upon the winds of whimsy.

An open heart,
Free and clear,
The moment, the moment, unending.

All is transient, yet what remains?
Is it the ripples of our passing,
That holds the truth of us?

Perhaps when our essence,
Resounds against the rocks of other souls,
Do we, ourselves, take form?

Or is concept,
That unique beat of each singular heart,
Sufficient to the task, alone?

Soliloquy, conceived, received
Which most embodies substance?
Does form outweigh the raw emergence of experience?

Or are they twins,
Joined at the thought, ‘twixt heaven and earth,
And me and you?

We bob in the same seas,
We drink the same air,
We see in you, ourselves.

Yet we are unalike as well,
Sparks from the same fire,
Water from the same well.

We run deep,
run amuck,
run away.

Yet the yearning,
To truly be,
Draws us all together.

The soft warm breeze,
Embraces my face,
In my waking dream.

The night,
So oft an echoed chamber stalked by fears,
Becomes a gentle blanket of comfort, soft and full.

And all sins of the past,
Are not forgiven,
But washed away.

And all fears for the future,
Are not calmed,
But banished.

And the present, ever changing and uncertain,
Becomes serendipitous and capricious,
And rather more the sprite than the trail sign of fate.

In the darkness,
All is bright,
Within the radiance of my heart.

Copyright Melanie Anne Phillips

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