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 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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