Views of the Lost
This Feeling and I
It's the touch of wind, you see
that wallows forth in front of thee.
It's the breath of every whispering leaf
and each howl of the stormy black tree.
This eternal breeze blows east and west,
it travels high and down below.
It sings songs of sorrow and gentle blessed,
clear as sky, muffled as death row.
The gale that breathes across jade fields
is the same tempest that dark waters yield,
and the flurry of the softest white snowdrop
is kin to the fury of blizzard-clad mountaintop.
It's the unseen ocean above our heads,
the draft that cools us in our beds.
It's the zephyr whose lungs forever speak
of hollowed silence and wispy peaks.
It's the voice that everyone understands,
the magic tendril of all our lands.
And beneath each touch of this world's wind
is a final touch of heaven.
The feeling bubbles up inside you
not individually
nor in spontaneous amounts
but slowly, gently
nearly in the background
like a rising of warm bread
as it rests over coals
or the tilting of the sun
as it lifts its face over the horizon.
Seemingly struck by a spark –
the bright spark of the eyes –
but the feeling itself is overwhelmingly
unsimilar to a burst of flame.
It is more like the suffocating heavy smoke
of a silent encasing of candle wax,
the fumes intoxicating you
as they fill your heart and lungs and soul.
Yet your eyes remain clearly open
and your mind sharper than the crystal spring.
It's merely inside you
that feels the lightening strain.
The affection comes much like an affliction
forcing your back to arch and your heart to swell
with the raw emotion of feeling
as your lips curl into a private smile.
Your jaw feels stretched
and your cheeks become numbed
as skin lifts to enhance your eyes –
those sparkling eyes –
and you cannot go back down
to the place you were before.
Where are you now? Unknown,
yet known, within the deepest
most thinly stretched fibers of being.
The feeling fades away as soon as it comes
and although your heart is changed
the experience is soon forgotten.
But there is a secret corner within now
that remembers the glistening closeness
to the lightly felt lifting of the eyes
and the heartened rising of the sun.
You will remember it again soon;
perhaps now you remember.
that wallows forth in front of thee.
It's the breath of every whispering leaf
and each howl of the stormy black tree.
This eternal breeze blows east and west,
it travels high and down below.
It sings songs of sorrow and gentle blessed,
clear as sky, muffled as death row.
The gale that breathes across jade fields
is the same tempest that dark waters yield,
and the flurry of the softest white snowdrop
is kin to the fury of blizzard-clad mountaintop.
It's the unseen ocean above our heads,
the draft that cools us in our beds.
It's the zephyr whose lungs forever speak
of hollowed silence and wispy peaks.
It's the voice that everyone understands,
the magic tendril of all our lands.
And beneath each touch of this world's wind
is a final touch of heaven.
The feeling bubbles up inside you
not individually
nor in spontaneous amounts
but slowly, gently
nearly in the background
like a rising of warm bread
as it rests over coals
or the tilting of the sun
as it lifts its face over the horizon.
Seemingly struck by a spark –
the bright spark of the eyes –
but the feeling itself is overwhelmingly
unsimilar to a burst of flame.
It is more like the suffocating heavy smoke
of a silent encasing of candle wax,
the fumes intoxicating you
as they fill your heart and lungs and soul.
Yet your eyes remain clearly open
and your mind sharper than the crystal spring.
It's merely inside you
that feels the lightening strain.
The affection comes much like an affliction
forcing your back to arch and your heart to swell
with the raw emotion of feeling
as your lips curl into a private smile.
Your jaw feels stretched
and your cheeks become numbed
as skin lifts to enhance your eyes –
those sparkling eyes –
and you cannot go back down
to the place you were before.
Where are you now? Unknown,
yet known, within the deepest
most thinly stretched fibers of being.
The feeling fades away as soon as it comes
and although your heart is changed
the experience is soon forgotten.
But there is a secret corner within now
that remembers the glistening closeness
to the lightly felt lifting of the eyes
and the heartened rising of the sun.
You will remember it again soon;
perhaps now you remember.