.

           Parked on Charlotte

"And the Wolves were Out seeking Lambs

    And the Humble, their Lionesses—

  Power is not, the Ability to Pursuade,

    But the Vulnerability to Love..."

                            ~

The Fog of Transition, Lifting Slowly—

  New Light washes the Murky Noise

Of an Inconsistent, Swarming Night

  With a blue-white Steady Wind.

                            ~

A Pristine Air, Rushes into the Lungs—

  Fresh off the Sea it seems,

To be the Surest Sign of Life—

  Raised by the Ancient Sages.

                            ~

As Echoes of the Asthmatic Night

  Ramble around Inside,

And stumble into subconscious Realms—

  The Catacombs of Memory...

                            ~

And what was She, who sat Alone

  Deep in Distant Thought?

But Molecules, so Delicately Arranged—

  Inimitable, as Fire.—

                            ~

And what is This?—but an Anchor Cast

  With threadbare Sails still Raised—

Tearing violently in a Vicious Wind

  Too strong to Light our Way?

                            ~

Mere Tricks of Strength have left Them Blank

  And I, from Robbing Graves—

Pulling all that I can possibly Carry

  With me, to the Master Page—

                            ~

For Love is what we Always Seek,

  But few ever fully grasp

The Forms, the Depths, the meanings of

  Questions, that Love may Ask.—

                            ~

Must Love be the One, always asking?!–

  Or is it Fear who cannot Know?—

Have I been Spoiling all I Suppose

  With Bones Buried years ago?—

                            ~

Do I have the Courage to Fall once more?

  Strength, to Cry in Vain?—

Will I Allow myself to Feel,

  —Short of Breath, again?