I have been writing about conversations between me and a dear friend. His has been a journey towards inner peace.
He has arrived.
His failing relationship, which was the cause of his turmoil, has come to an end. He is now facing the future with head held high, free of the emotional tugs that kept him under the dark cloud of guilt.
My friend is strong, but he is also vulnerable to his own self-inflicted pain. It would seem that, for some of us, pain has a miraculous way of bringing about emotional healing.
My friend is healed.
Following, you will read two poems from another dear friend. These were sent to my friend as a way of assisting in the process of moving on. They are quite moving. I suppose even more so for those of us who have survived traumatic events of our own.
Allow yourself to become immersed in the words. If you've lost at love, then you will see where this talented writer is coming from. May you never have to endure such pain.
There are moments when like minds meld,
as parallel thoughts turn perpendicular,
only to collide and dissolve as quickly as they appear.
In this short span of time
expressions slide past tongues and into ears,
with the speed of a spine-tailed swift.
Here, where past transgressions are forgiven,
with the simple spark of a synapse,
or the stroke of a pen.
The probability of finding one kindred spirit
with which to share such painful pleasures,
is almost nonexistent in this life.
But, somewhere while traversing the depths of life’s vast sea,
my soul found in yours,
what yours found in me.
There was a point where I thought I had forgotten you;
A point where present and past folded into each other like ribbons,
Bending and swirling in the breeze,
A point where time bent into itself,
Overlapping and overwriting as the second hand ticked quickly by.
For a brief moment, synapse and soul rejected my memories of you,
And I felt relief from the ache of the empty place you left behind.
Then, as quickly as I had forgotten the time,
I remembered your hand on your hair,
Your voice in the distance,
The gentle roll of your throaty laugh,
The moment when it all came crashing to an end was vivid once again.
Somewhere, memories still fold into themselves,
Waxing and waning like the flow of the tide,
Bound inexplicably by a silver thread to the pull of the moon,
The part of you I sense when I slumber.
There is no explanation for this strap that tugs me toward you in thought.
Even in sleep, I find no solace.
My earthly eyes may close,
But the visions of your sweet face haunt me,
And always will,
Until memories overlap and overwrite,
And the second hand ticks off the last moment of my time.