In a moment, perpetuated by dreams and lost to the light, I see thee and call to thy soul. For no distance in yards, nor fathomless ocean, may encumber such vision.

I have seen days in turn and weeks aplenty, each with the birth of a new sun, and each with its end. Should hope be shattered, as would my heart, you shall be lost – so in belief I find sanctuary with dreams.

By the sword I prevail, and whisper now to the wind in petition of your heart. I am swept by tides greater than nature’s fury and defy the rage of thunder.

In the clement shades of time before that which follows, I am lost to your glory, breathless and in surrender. In descent, held to your gaze and drawn to the light, I am fallen. In sweet rapture, adrift and tempered by your spirit, I am no man but a child.

As lace, time weaves in render of equable filigree and here I repose, in pleasant shelter of your smile. Breath rested from the softness of parted amaranth billows spritsails as I drift endless to their touch.

With mull, accentuated by lace, and drawn to lines as perfection, your shape in silhouette takes sight. In eye of finest contours, carved from alabaster, and cast to the vision of Aphrodite, your picture remains.

With motion upon abyssal swells, in fever of mind and swept to flame I yield to my seduction. Beyond this crossing, in ebb and flow, immersed beneath waves and lost to reason.

With bitter taste and washed by tears, this body, your touch, our hearts – tangled but unbroken and one.

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23 Responses to Whispers

  1. But the whispering wind shall soothe their bitter taste, as time will heal their wounds. All that shall come to pass shall be, with the memory of a touch and the promise of fate. This once again has moved me beyond human belief! Wendy xx

  2. What a novel approach, Andrew.

  3. Manuela, the Rose ;-) says:

    Dear Andrew, I’m lost for words (and this is something that seldom happens ;-)). Happy the lady you had in mind when writting this essay – she really can be proud to have you! πŸ™‚

    • avbarber says:

      Thank you Manuela, as always your words are most touching in their kindness

      • Manuela, the Rose ;-) says:

        I think the story goes like this: You are deeply in love with an elfin who lives in the Shire … You seduced her with your wonderful words πŸ™‚ I have the strong feeling that you want to lead us on the wrong track while writing of ‘nor fathomless ocean’. Very clever of you, indeed! Quite sure your lady is based in old Europe though πŸ˜‰

      • avbarber says:

        You are close Manuela, I am impressed by your powers of deduction – although it is a fairy princess and not an Elf πŸ™‚

      • Manuela, the Rose ;-) says:

        Right Watson, you can call me Sherlock Holmes! πŸ˜‰

      • avbarber says:

        Agreed! πŸ™‚

  4. nikki says:

    You float through each word,absorbing them and letting them take you into your own dreams .Beautiful and meaningful words x

  5. Marina says:

    oh—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————leaf——-tremble———-fall quietly.

  6. Anne Glenn says:

    As a woman who loves the romantic side of men, I was moved by your words to the woman in your thoughts. You have an elegant way of expressing your feelings on paper that transfers your vision to my mind. You are a truly gifted writer.

  7. Wow…all I can say is that the love in your life must be in a constant state of awe if you write such words especially for them…..wow.

  8. Caroline says:

    Perfect—as memories and emotions flow through a never-ending glass-timer the essence retains eternity. Your words are beautiful, indicating that the scribe and his quill are equally so. Thank you for sharing your powerful and poignant prose—t’is a day for P’s—-perfect:)

    • avbarber says:

      Thank you – your eloquence flatters my hand by which the words were formed, my heart from which they came and my mind that would see them arranged – I hope you will enjoy more of my work πŸ™‚

  9. Marina says:

    This exquisite passage shatters her into a thousand pieces of tragic crystal; crystal used to skipping somersaults though life’s filigree moments, but now lost to the deliverance of cruel fate. For this is the letter her Lancelot would have written, had the frightened dragon, fanned by Arthur’s hurt, not blown him far, far away. She has played the Guinevere role–plays it still–in crumpled velvet gown the colour of the stain gifted by her abandonment. High and dry they left her, sobbing colours in the sand both knights turned to the destruction of their own demons.
    And then Sir Galahad canters by, scattering such beauty that would rip her tattered heart further. Little does he realize as he hurries past—but perhaps he does, for she recognizes the pain in his own powerful definition. Should she thank him? Of course—her cup is half-full, never half empty.

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