SYMPHONIC DEPTHS OF THE SOUL I swam beneath night sky, the ocean an abyss of ink. I seemed to drift over the water, faltering in my own failure. I push myself against the tide, not even knowing why I bother. I could fight with your loss no longer. Forever is not long enough. Crescent moon, cutting through the heart of me. Desire lifts me higher while dread drags me down. Down. No doubt to all manner of batrachian fiend and slithering insanity. Maybe closer to her. No. Must not think that way. Her face, her face, her face, over crystal clear waters. Nude and joyous, illuminated. The effervescent smile and unequivocal soul. Lost in thought, I lost myself, and now all breath is gone.
FATHOMS DEEP AND MILES AWAY Hope, it was lost to me. Adrift, alone, I knew it would only be a matter of time now. I watched the sun set for the final time over the ocean, for I knew I lacked the strength to see it rise again. Entering the nighttime water, an instant chill enveloped me. The ocean was cold, foreboding, and I welcomed the abyss. Slowly I sank beneath perilous waves and into the darkness. And that is where I found her. In this inky void there was a light, far from natural, and undeniably enticing. She swam to me as my breath was all but gone. Taking my face into her hands, she stared beyond me. Her eyes, so crystal clear, were nearly catastrophic to my soul. Her lips met my own, cool and sincere, and just like that, I was renewed. I still required breath, but it just failed to phase me any longer. I was lost in her alluring beauty, and in her eyes I saw oblivion. I longed to find my place there. She took me down to crushing depths and her love was doom incarnate. I only wish I could return the sentiment with the same bitter grandeur. I was lost in body and mind, but nothing mattered as long as I could see her face, stare into those eyes and know I was loved, if only for a moment. Blessed in death, with something I could never find in life. I accept my fate, numb and motionless in her arms. The sweetest end I could have ever hoped for. My faith in a dead heaven restored.
My son , attend to my wisdom, and incline thy ear to my prudence. That thou mayst keep thoughts, and thy lips preserve instruction.Mind not deceit of a woman. For the lips of a harlot are like a honeycomb dropping and her throat is smoother than oil . But her end is bitter as wormwood , and sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down into death and her steps go in as far as hell .They walk not by the path of life , her steps are wandering , and unaccountable . Drink water out of thy own cistern, and streams of thy own well: Let thy fountains be conveyed abroad, and in the streets divide thy water . Job.14:16