Sixty Three . . .

Rescue

By Stormcat

There are those times, random, though not rare,

when the world seems distant and hellbent on ignorance.

The bustle of stagnation urges all to work harder only

to arrive where the heart can never find satiation.

Laud those that make isolation unbearably poignant.

Consider that told of the man living thus. Fiercely maintained 

remoteness finding little disturbance to extinguish self pity

Why do such stories always feature a rescue?

"lose yourself" beckons, with the promise of being found

by the most desirable person imaginable.

Thus self imposed exile seemingly guarantees that

some elusive similarly tortured soul-mate will breach the distance

to rescue you from the hellish sadness that you stoically endure.

Are stories even told where the rescue fails or more realistically 

is never even attempted or contemplated?.

Where's the interest in telling that scenario?

I see the nature of your bright essence

Even stars, glimmering from distances so vast as to pale eternity,

shed light to reveal their place and inspire my own.

I long to draw neigh, to revel in your light, to play

so close as to risk being burned by the intensity.

Are you the witch of my salvation? The angel of my meditation?

Let your light flow around my defenses, 

even through the chinks in my armor

Bathe me in your presence, let your softness overflow the 

hardness of sorrow and soothe away reticent wounds.

Embrace Eden not hidden in joyous innocence,

exposed, rather, In fully passionate unfettered desire.

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