A jester of your will...

I am a poet in disguise, a jester of your will. I know you are there but I don’t know who you are. My flesh murmurs again and again. You remind me constantly. I am overwhelmed with stupefied awe of the perfect lightness of your being. The insatiable paradox within yearns to sense the insensible, to see the invisible. The the black hole vortex ravishes me into the infinite depths of blackness. Yet, in an instant, I am stilled by the delicacy of a tea cup resting beneath the lamp on a perfect Sunday afternoon. I could hear your whispers calling.

Then you leave me and left alone I am. Or is it I that leave you? Am I unable to resist the vile that festers in me? Too weak to liberate myself from the shackles of my own imprisonment and not able to face you knowing full well that you hear me the loudest in my silence. I am tiring and I seek the transfusion of the spirit through every vein in my soul...