Part III - Enigma

I am still finding myself inspired by improbabilities and I suffer and struggle and want more. It’s an aching, starving hunger that can only be fed and fueled by a bittersweet chemistry. She is there and I am touched and the words, like clay, are molded but flow like warm water from my hand. I can’t undo what’s already been done now that the moments are carved into stone.

She is a mysterious muse, a captivating enigma, and her beauty is relentless like the sharp edge of a sword. When in her presence, she breaks my concentration like sunshine slicing through clouds of a storm. My heart grows restless and superstitious and turns my passion into poetic rage. And remnants of her find themselves onto every scrap of paper and into every pixel of digital page. Words become strewn like tapestries on white castle walls obscuring the depths of dark dungeon halls from the past.

She has been my phoenix rising from the ashes, my angel and salvation. She has rescued and revived me from the damp and cold, the demons and shadows from every alley and street corner. Like a lighthouse she has guided me away from the rocky shore and into that of safe harbor. And without reason, maybe selfishness, I have barely gotten to know her and have been denied a friendly acquaintance and conversation. I feel as if I owe her everything but I’m running a bit late. Maybe, just maybe, I could wait a little longer.

To be continued . . .