Of Muse and Firestone

But a glimpse?
A mere glimpse is that what you speak of?
Such a small token
can only hope to stave
and not satisfy the aching heart.

The heart is both crafty and naive
in its own understanding
of truth and sentiment.
Bound by desire
and encased in soul.

We walk and we talk
and we travel hand in hand
along the watery ways.

Speak again so that I might here
and know what the divine sounds of.
Look upon me with your eyes
and see my tattered soul,
the mere scraps of a life
whose basis is survival.

Take these blistered eyes
and worn hands,
pass your touch on them
bring a renewal,
life,
to this dessert
a wasteland that is my soul.

Let me but gaze once more upon your figure,
to see you in entirety
and gaze into your soul
and I should be content so share with you.

Oh this traverse of the soul looking.
Free me from my prison
and of this cage.
My fear. my doubt and pain.

But a mere glimpse does not provide relief
it merely stirs the soul to recall
and remember you in more vivid details.
Living colors wrapped in words
which you whisper sweet and softly,
the muse and divine creature you are.

Sentiments fall shy of you
and seek to displace truth with a picture
when all I can see is you.
You may see in eyes of the divine
but I can see you when you cannot see me.
While you are bound I am free
with no intention of leaving until
this all burns to dust.