that single note hung there a door held open to the Otherworld of explosive stillness opening full my senses of that rushing edge of the moving horizon a drop of blindness over the falls to vision my form losing itself through the mist i am no longer earth bound i am no longer falling i am flying on this vibration beacon of sound a whisper of life i am deaf no more

we are ghosts forgetting who we are never becoming dying to please to appease dreams never written from a hand afraid to hold a pen afraid to spill some ink rushing to an end no attempt to write a self-styled plot inspired life-prose and thought if not we haunt ourselves being nothing a vague presence voiceless mist neuromancer psychopomp

enfold between sea and sky water well and dragon fire Brighids 3 and maidens 9 Ceridwen knows reality lies somewhere between Mephisto’s glare and the Cheshire cat’s fading smile

in between what is and what ought to be i float on the Sargasso Sea listening with Van Gogh’s ear to thoughts too deep for tears. i ask Her: who am I? to seek the dying gods, to breathe another’s breath, to be the dew, the fallen leaf, a footprint in the sand washed by the sea. She whispers: gently sleep, close your eyes — you will never be old to me. love flows from my river. you will always be he lays down his sword, walks past the Maiden, back into the mouth of the dragon

Here I stand, a foot poised to cross the threshold, the weight of childhood dreams clutching at my sleeves, pulling me back as the doors begin to close. What if your voice reached through shadows, a soft plea laced with memories? Would you ask me to stay, to fold these restless desires into silence? Yet still, my heart thrums with want— the bittersweet taste of leaving, wrapped in the ache of unspoken goodbyes.

a time of silence Ogma does not speak. Sophia sings through leaves babbling water scent of pine snarls and blood of birth and feeding i am here this river flows into my navel many channels and deep memories of rain and tears dancing along the lifeline of Chiron’s hand this ridge along the milky river i am here Miach in Airmed’s care cruithear

i will give you form call you from shadow carve you from wood breathe you in water drum ash from my head in a Shaman’s bones shape you from clay a circle of stone draw you from mist touch the ground ride the chalk horse kiss the witch i will name you loneliness whispered lies Prometheus mask stealer of fire my changeling child

Maybe sadness isn’t black, Maybe it’s light that won’t come back. A flame too weak to fight the cold, A heart that burns itself to old.

Alone feels like dark water rising, Every breath feels compromising. People laugh beneath the sun, While you forget how joy is done. Solitude is moonlit sand, No desperate reaching for a hand. Just waves arriving, then retreating, Like calm and quiet finally meeting. Loneliness tastes sharp like rain, A hollow echo of someone’s name. Standing ankle deep in despair, Wondering why no one’s there. Depression is the ocean floor, Where light can’t reach you anymore. Only pressure, only blue. Only surviving because you have to.

How far does this star wander ? Far enough to fall dowm and be forgotten