Free Letters to Dandelion by Xve

-
     
    And the Elder monk said,
    “I carried her for but a little while,
    while you, are still carrying her.”
     
    Dandelion never carried me –
    She told me once, she loved me.
    Told me, that one day, I would
meet her children.
     
    But, I carry her, still.
    Obviously, in my mind,
    in my emotions,
    in my glass shattered love
    and the pain in my gut.
     
    Her beauty is ingrained
    and woven into the fibers
of my desire,
so deeply branded is her
    memories,
    now as thin as smoke.
     
    I was more than in love with her.
    And that’s never a good sign.
     
    Steel - is heated, into a
    liquid, before it is skimmed
    and trimmed, and treated,
    and then beaten into a
    useful and purposeful shape.
     
    All these things had to happened.
     
    Dandelion opened the door
for me to engage in my new war
    of seeing myself,
    carving my path,
    and throwing my new found fate
     
    into the unforgiving winds.

Aftermath
·          I walked away from a dream
    ·          The Wings of Goodbye
    ·          Vapors of Lace
    ·          The sun set on the candle flame
    ·          Breeze
    ·          Vain
    ·          The Whites of Her Eyes …
    ·          Big Fat Lie
    ·          Story
    ·          And then, one day …
    ·          When I sleep, I dream …
    ·          Sayonara Sonnet
    ·          Epilogue
     

I walked away from a dream
     
    When I made enough, to buy the stuff,
    the stuff from which I dreamed;
    I held it all and had a ball,
    unsatisfactory though it seemed.
     
    And my mind grew angry,
    my heart grew weary,
    my lungs air could not fill,
     
    My eyes were teary,
    my nerves were shattered,
    and I felt I lost my will.
     
    When I beheld her,
    and then I touched her,
    a miracle rushed through my palms.
     
    Her eyes like money,
    her stature so stunning,
    and perfection to quite no wrong.
     
    She was my dream.
     
    She was everything to me,
    all that I grew up reaching to possess.
    She was more than beauty,
    more than savory and
    and in my mind, a Princess.
     
    But dreams are fake.
    Dreams come at night,
    not during the day.
     
    So when I reached to her,
    through her my hand grew,
    and when she spoke, my
    ears tuned to the sounds
    of nothingness.
     
    Pantomime – in the darkness
    of my visions, and things that
    I wish for, but have no purchase
    with God who holds everything
    I want, but allows nothing to slip.
    I was empty, as she reached for me,
    and her hand passed through my
    breast.
     
    I felt dead and helpless.
     
    Paralyzed, as I realized,
    my dream with her, would never
    be and was just a gut wrenching
    empty moment of time.
     
    Waking up cold, and alone, in
    a pool of sweat,
    I walked away
    from another dream of lies,
    and cries
    and whys.

 
     
     
       The Wings of Goodbye.
     
     
     
            Upon the wings of goodbye.
    The air rushes to bring a tear to my eye,
    But I will hold down my cries,
    In respect for you.
     
            A non-existent breeze,
created by their flow,
    Brings a sorrow only my heart would know.
     
    For on the wings of goodbye,
    is where my feelings fly.
     
    Cast to the fates of tomorrow,
    and soothed by the spance of the sky.
     
    Between their broad shoulders,
    only the memory of you will lie.
    Known only by us, until the day that we
die.
     
    Maybe someday, again, we may try.
    But until that day,
    My thoughts and my prays,
    are soaring on the wings of goodbye.

Vapors of Lace.
     
    It’s through these
    Vapors of Lace,
    drifting through
    my mind –
    That which might
    trace –
    those eclectic,
    electric, sexy
    times of expecting
    and receiving her
    Love.
     
    Anticipation,
    fucked me up
    when I’d have
    to wait.
     
    All I could see
    - was her.
     
    When she walked,
    when she danced,
    - before me,
    Or, inclined her ear
    for a moment to
really listen to what
    I had to say.
     
    Everything,
    always seemed so
    colorful, when she
    was near me.
     
    Soft lit candles