A quest of an old infatuation begins.

Two things, one, the words of strangers can really lift fallen spirits, truly. And two, my plan about my sister’s friend is in motion. The suggestion is planted and I think it took root. My mom is too perceptive, she immediately knew what was up, but she’s going along I think.

Now is the waiting game to see if the seed continues to fruition. This is not some macho male conquest, this is a desire from long ago, that now as a man, an unattached man, I’m going to chase.

When we were young and in Tallahassee, I was 14, she was 18. When she was around, my chest would constrict and all I could do was was look at that red hair and those gorgeous blue eyes. This will happen. I will be sure of it. And my family will be the tool. Like I said my mother knows what’s up, she knows me too well, but my sister, she’ll arrange it without knowledge of my true aims here. This isn’t to claim some male glory, this is to try to follow one of my first and strongest infatuations that lives to this day.

I’ve set goals before, that’s how I hooked up with my ex wife, that’s how I ruined my marriage by setting a goal for a family member of hers. They both came to pass.

Now I have a new goal, nothing of ill will or selfish purposes. This one is only to chase an infatuation that has been with me for more than 1/2 my life.

The ball is in play, if it happens it does. As I mentioned earlier, this is no macho conquest, I’m heading towards forty, so why not chase a dream? If it blossoms, it does. If I get shot down, damn. If it never manifest, it wasn’t meant to be, but I believe there is a reason I’ve held this infatuation for more than 1/2 my life so far.

I love a love story, Wuthering Heights is my favorite. But this one, which I have just begun to persue has no tainted past. It will happen. My sis just has to get her out here, I will do the rest. And she will get her to visit, so it’s all on time and me.

It’ll either be a budding love story, or a wasted dream.

Seasons of The Soul

It is like a chilled Winter’s wind,

frosty in it’s breath,

as it sweeps across me,

through me.

Taking with it, in it’s gust,

just a shade of my spirit.

It is like a mild Summer’s sun,

soothing in it’s shine,

as it’s touch of warmth caresses my skin,

and comforts within.

Washing with light and life,

the corridors of my heart.

It is like an early Autumn’s rain,

gentle, yet steady in it’s tattering spatter,

as it softly showers down upon me,

absorbing, absolving.

Dripping droplets rolling down my face,

mask the tears of an aching soul.

It is like a burgeoning Springtime’s blossom,

beauty glowing on it’s petals,

as it is born to life,

with the light of love.

Bringing with it, in it’s bloom,

a promise of hope and the scent of passion.

Dreaming

It comes in dreams,

sleeping away.

Blown in winds of fantasy hopes,

sweeping astray.

A secret and magical place,

a reality altered.

Fated fortunes of favor,

never faltered.

Summer’s dream

It is below a late spring’s moon,

that summer’s dreams are born.

From phantom mouth’s of dead winter’s ruin,

the vows of promise are phrased and sworn.

To blossom from seed,

a sweetly aromatic lure.

Midnight dew beads on leaves shimmering

as summer’s hope matures.

The killing hesitation

Tick, tick, ticking away,

the hesitation that bleeds,

that can kill.

Is it the killing silence,

or the killing words that are more potent,

more fatal to the spirit.

Passion’s flame burns wild , undeniable.

subtle recognition fans the flames.

Yet there is deadly risk in hesitation after the connection is made.

With passion and desire,

the beating heart can thrive to heights rarely reached.

With that same passion and desire,

the beating heart can bleed out,

Bleeding out by choice, cold and clammy skin grayed and lifeless,

lifelessly pale seeming palely bleached.

Ecstasy awaits

Mutual and freely alive.

A since of vitality, a brightened elation taunts at hesitation.

Ecstasy awaits,

Ecstasy beckons,

Still calling, calling out across the growing winds howling.

Calling out against brewing storm, brooding torrents threatening.

Calling,

Calling, she is calling out over the vast and swiftly surging river that divides.

She is calling out against the threat of storm,

against the approaching night.

Calling out from dawns first rays

’till dusk’s weakened and failing light falls.

Against the night, she calls.

Still she calls.

Someone must cross the raging waters that flush and flood,

Racing, chasing away weakness.

Someone must bridge this chasm.

Ecstasy awaits,

Only illusion separates and divides

Fruits given of the Fates,

Treasures promised await for this isolation to subside.

Restrained

It is still alive, yet paralyzed,

restrained.

Lost, another day in time,

frozen and chained.

A heart is still yearning,

a face will still blush.

Kindled slowly, a softly delicate burning.

Passions as fuel awaits, awaiting this flame to combust.

A promise of spring.

Spring has awakened,

Her hazel eyed horizon painting oceans of blue sky.

The softly sweet scent of her flowery perfume brings a smile.

The caress of her warm breath, gently soothing on the skin.

Her smile, full of youth and life, cast rays of new light,

showing the way to a summer, soon to offer the fruition of springs promise.

A question

What good is a beautiful crystal

with no light to complement or sparkle through it?

What good is a mirror

with no image to reflect back?

How pretty is a rose bud

who’s stem is dry as bone?

How sweet is chocolate

left abandoned on the shelf of a long closed gift shop?

Why does the pain still ache

when you are numb and frozen to the core?

What good is midnight’s promise of sunrise coming

to a soul long wandering in twilight’s perpetual maze?

Out of the rain.

Below an awning, she stands alone.

The storming skies pour down.

Her hair, dripping droplets of rain at the ends.

On her face, the water gathered and beaded.

She possesses a beauty rarely seen,

like a scarce find of amber, as the sun, washing alight, casts it’s rays,

luminous glow gleaming fiery orange to gold.

She steps forward.

Out of the realm of dreams,

into my reality.