Lugh’s Garden

I have never touched your face,
Nor gazed into your eyes,
But I will hold you in my heart,
Until my life fire dies.
Ours is not a mortal love,
Dependant on a kiss,
Nor, do we love conveniently,
It’s so much more than this.

I never chose to love you,
And you did not choose me,
Our souls searched for each other,
To set each other free.
You will always have those loves,
That grow, and fade away,
But I will have that part of you,
Which in my heart, will stay.

I may never touch your face,
Your eyes, I may not see,
But you will always have my soul,
Until you set it free.

It was the scent of roses,
A shiny bit of stone,
And the soft folds of fabric,
That kept me hanging on,
Long beyond the point
I knew the loss was real.

Beyond the day I knew I was
A memory, fondly held, perhaps,
But still, more a part of the past,
Than the future, I started my days
With expectation, with hope,
Touching a stone, for luck.

Old men believe in luck,
And in magic, it keeps them
From seeing their place in time.
It dulls the pain of knowing
The rest of their bridges
Will be crossed in darkness, alone.

It doesn’t hurt so much, anymore.
The images beneath the lamps
Are just shadows,
The mist has closed in
Around the bridges,
But the scent of roses, lingers on.

I’ve used up all the seasons,
And the waterfalls, babbling brooks,
Lakes and oceans, and the clouds,
I’ve used them up too.
Now they’re just great masses,
White and grey, moving across a blue sky.

I’ve twisted words around every
Image I thought I saw,
Trying to draw the right picture,
Send the right message,
But their staleness let them crumble,
Even as I watched them form.

My pen’s run dry,
And the paper stays blank,
No matter how much I scratch at it.
I feel like a desire that can’t find
Something to focus on,
A hunger that can’t find a flavor.

“I love you”, was a lifetime ago,
No, a dozen lifetimes ago,
All the I love you’s of my life,
Like seeds, rattling in a dried gourd,
Their dryness mocking me,
For thinking they had life,
Sitting by the brooks and waterfalls,
Watching the damned clouds.

You hold me, gently,
Like a small bird, trembling
In your hand, fearing to be
Crushed, fearing release,
And the loss of your warmth.

You tease me, laughing
At my indecision, a tiger cub,
Torn between desire and nature,
Wanting to play,
Needing to be bold.

You tell me stories,
Fairy tales, fanning the flames
Of my passion, fueling the fire
That burns beneath the surface,
Ready to rage.

I reach out, into the mist,
Grasping at ethereal forms,
Words, wafted on the wind,
Promises in paisley teardrops,
Falling through my fingers, like the dew

We dream our together-dreams,
Seeking in the shadows,
That which can only exist
Behind eyes, shut against the light,
Wanting only to be held, gently.

I am the Wind,
Unseen partner,
Dancing with the clouds,
Ruffler of hair, and
Breath of the world.
I put wrinkles on oceans,
And smooth the tracks of man,
From sand and snow,
I whisper to lovers,
Carrying messages between them,
And in the Spring,
I make love to the trees.

I am the Sea,
Lifeblood of the Mother,
And the womb of life,
I nurture storms, crush continents,
And feed the world.
My children hide the sun,
And wash the sins of man,
From the land.
I keep their secrets within me,
And carry their lonely souls
From heart ache to heart ache.

I am the sand,
Once noble as a mountain,
Now tossed by wind and sea,
Filling the hollow places
And scars upon the Earth.
I am the voice of humility,
The fate of the tallest peaks,
Falling through fingers, like time,
Like love, untended.