Illume
Illume 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 ...