Wondersmith West Discussion Forum Hosted by Alice C. Bateman: Hey!! This is Beautiful!!!

Hey!! This is Beautiful!!!

He lurched through lands. Mind wrapped in purple shroud,
Continually covered, hooded, flooded, in frenzied depression.
Bewildered, bloodshot, blindly stumbling through his cloud,
Nothing to give, to take, to offer or share. Nothing to question.

Had faith in nothing, because nothing had faith in him.
His God was Nothing. His instinct was to roam.
Shattered dreams scattered, torn limb from decomposed limb.
He left nowhere, was going nowhere. His shroud was his home.

No one ever saw him, so no one stopped him, no one spoke.
Pure delight. He carried no compassion for the human race,
Or any earth bound nature. All of that stuff was a sick practical joke ….. until
Fainting by the roadside and being lifted up by a woman of grace.

Hazy face fazing in and out, pretty face, white lace, drifting cloud.
A hand, an arm, a nurse’s smile, a caring smile, with knowing eyes.
With acceptance he stood - knowing eye contact was allowed.
But this was mind contact. Stimulating a whiteness, lightness, alrightness of surprise.

They belonged. So long since he longed for the inaccessible.
She led him to sanctuary. Chairs, homely aromas, and an arm around his waist.
Spoken thoughts of the moment were uncontrollable, irrepressible.
His shrouded life to that moment, he casted off with bile and distaste.

She quietly closed doors and drapes. He didn’t know, he didn’t see.
She brought him tea on a tray. Neither he nor she had anything to say.
Flames in the fireplace, from nowhere going nowhere. Inexplicably, bizarrely,
These shapeless dancers, showed him his old life, gave warmth to his new day.

They were in love. So much so he felt no need to talk, explain or apologise.
So many appalling things, so much blackness. This was unjustified.
Gentleness, understanding, acceptance, an angelic wiseness, beamed from her eyes.
Their hearts met as one, loneliness and dread were gone, his history died.

Later they made love. Gently, quietly, tenderly. Side by side and a smile
Into each others eyes. He held her, stroked her hair, and thanked a new Divinity.
She sighed deeply. He was her man. Her Peter Pan. Life was worthwhile.
This was style with providence, that would carry them in a coach and four, to infinity.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

The tone was low, the bass deep, her voice smokey sexy, she sung like in sleep.
Tables were full. They’d eaten and whispered over wine.
All around them was dreamlike, seemed like drowning happy, drowning deep.
Between them was a ring. They heard her sing. And all was so very fine.

And here I am, the man.
My name is anyone.
And here I am, the woman.
My name is anyone.
We have made mistakes
We have travelled.
We are now – as one.