The Song of Love

 

 

The music:

Swirling, twisting, cloying; weaving it's slick and slippery sensual glamor into my mind, my spirit, my everything I may become in the course of this life, and it is all because of you: the shy hopeless dreamer with the look of a poet, the gaze of an angel, and hair like a windblown haystack.

 

I feel it:

If joy had a color, for you it would be blue; for the smoky blue tendrils my mind does see within the cloak of the darkness behind my eyes when you play can be called nothing else but pure joy. How your art invades my mind, driving me to desire you even more, the sound touching me where you cannot, when you cannot; here, in front of the others.

 

I feel you in your song:

A pure burst of emotion ensnared by the power of sound, reined into the soul by God's simple gift of hearing. It is intoxicating: the very nature of what drives a man to drink, to womanize, to battle; the single wretched hope that for a small moment man can become something worth remembering. The others imagine your music as many things: the pride of a victorious battle; angels whipping down from dark storm clouds to cleanse the disbelievers with their fiery swords of justice; righteous vengeance of those done wrong;  the very voice of God above. But I know that is you; you and only you. Your frustration, your joy, your needs, wants, and desires that will never be fulfilled and the sound of your dreams when in them, they finally are.

 

Lucid and true emotion slipping into our very beings:

Through our ears, rolling through our minds like so many droplets of water that flow over the stones of a river; building up in a wave of underlying emotion that runs so deep that when emotions finally burst free of our mouths, our minds, ourselves; the sweet and pure words of truest love are so special, so secret, so sacred that we dare not speak of it above a whisper, else it change the web of the world entirely.

 

You lay near me:

Under me, over me, beside me; again losing what appears to be left of our former selves as we merge into something that seems to go far beyond the realm of earthly beings. We become one with the music and I believe that you are a being of pure song given life by some ancient pagan god and I was meant to worship at the altar of you.

 

I see your chest rise and fall as you sleep:

You seem mortal yet again, but it seems as if it is blasphemy that you are breathing the air of mortal men. It is as if you should survive entirely on joy and music instead of being subjected to the rigors of lowly mortal requirements.

 

Your heart beats within your breast:

And I know that is is for none but me, in spite of outward appearances. I have felt it's flutter beneath the gentle touch of my clumsy hand when we have been joined as one; I believe in truth, that if tested by God himself, that I could easily pick your heart's steady rhythm from an ocean made up of thousands of others, how familiar I have become with it's sound. It is as if it makes a music of its own just for me.

 

You open your eyes:

And your smile lights the world (crystal blue singing sighs of life and love) as if you are some ethereal being sent to us to show us the light and I find it hard to believe that you really exist, as if a joy this profound were reserved for the most secret, most revealing of dreams and not for this mortal plane.

 

 

I watch you:

Moving through throngs of people, playing with them like so many marionettes with you as the master puppeteer: a God walking among men. Even the King seems to have your ear, and not you his, for you may be the only one that walks within this plane of existence we call earth that could walk into the den of the greatest and wildest of beasts and come back his confidant, his companion, his most loyal of friends.

 

Your eyes:

The vivid, clear blue pierces me like arrows that fly true and straight to the apex of my soul. So many look at you and see the Knight, the favorite of the King, and most of all, the one to admire and aspire to become like. Yet when your eyes did settle they did upon me; and I still know not what I ever did to deserve your love and devotion, they found a peace. A contentment that others find within you and you find in no other but me and I thank God each day for allowing you to be birthed in this common place, walking among men like you have lowered yourself to be among them.

 

You sleep:

And I must tear myself away from your warm side, peeling my thin, pale form from the fine, sweat-soaked sheets and the luxury of your fine apartments to make my way stealthily away to my own bed in my modest room. I watched your chest rise and fall before I slipped away from your presence, and in the darkness and privacy of my own chambers I try to mimic the tempo of your breath so I can feel as if I am sleeping with some hidden part of you.

 

You laugh:

And although you seem to think my music mimics the sound of the angels that reside in heaven above, simple notes on a page can never compare to the sound that is completely you and no other. I have tried to capture the melody of it's song so that I may bury it deep withing one of my works, immortalizing you forever, and charging the subjects of our great King to learn it's sound, for it would be a selfish act to keep it within the confines of the castle and from the rest of the world. It should only be justice that they play that small bit of you to those who are trying to achieve a more godly position in this mortal world, for they need some sign in place of disbelievers world that God does exist within us all

 

Away from you:

I am not lost, but I am completely lonely, for you are the only one that has the true key to my soul and sees me for what I am.

 

I am a poet of world, a writer of emotion in sound, and most of all, completely and totally devoted to you, my most beloved of friends and companions, from now until the day God does part us.

 

I am yours.