~* On Whispers Of The Evening Wind *~

She tiptoes in on the whispers of the evening wind,
Permeating my mind, with splashes of her visions,
Visiting me when the time seems to suit her fancy.
Over and over she turns her dreams of fantasy
In my mind meditatively and all to often inconclusively.

In my dreams I write her tears and laughter,
My quill spins with tales of her grief and sorrow,
Fantasies meant for the eyes and ears of true believers,
Become my tapestry of her illusions running rampant.

I am but her conduit, as she pens my very soul,
Weaving and entangling my mind with thoughts
Of the wreckage of things better left buried.
Her sorrow and pain becomes my albatross,
Her visions of love, laughter and hope, my beacon.

She whispers questions so softly I can never answer.
"Will there always be a rainbow in the heavens?"
"Do willows always bend to grace the ground of autumn?"
Fracturing my heart she asks, "Where do angels go to die?"  

Over and over, I tell her I was truly meant to be alone,
She responds that my very solitude is now her scribe.
Oh yes, she has now told me her name, but
I swore to keep it a secret between the two of us.

~*~

artist unknown
music: " Twilight" http://www.angelfire.com/wi2/jandingo20/index7.html