Betwixt the Moon and the Land

Betwixt the moon and the land there exists a swirling, screaming sea.  Within these warm waters waits hidden knowledge, knowledge that cannot be uttered aloud.  On one hand, I cannot speak.  On the other, I cannot see. You've become a ghost. My eidolic one, do not surprise me with subtle gifts and knives that pierce my womb.  I only ask for your thoughts, your arms and your words to guide. Were it not for such hopes, I may've ascended to a higher calling, or a writer's falling, a failing of infinite ideas but ultimate poverty.  The life I live is not for me, but for hope of a better day. Sometimes, I sit and dwell within these sleepless nights, alone with thoughts of a better way with a sweeter voice and gentle laughter wisping through the soft area between my ears.  I think of future moments together at last when writing rules the hours and shares the airs betwixt the moon and the land.  I, the moon, and you, the land, my anchor grounding me to freedom and comfort.

For now I stray beyond these thoughts, to worlds of langour and sullen work. These walls of grey and words of ill semantics litter my floor and I feel alone and dulled. How do I get to an ends? A brilliant end, where the universe at twain becomes a whole again, aware of both its halves and better for it. This thought is a realization of parallels and my mind is struck with the themes I have placed upon my own worlds, my own creations. How they mirror my mind and my own dreams! Once thought to be so apart from myself, I realize truths and they are of me. My longings, my crossings, my underwilled and oversought trystical nature. But, oh! The distance is so far and the conversations mute. Yet somehow, in my silence I know everything. I know everything of love and love knows everything of me and my love is the thought of a world entwined lest the silence consumes. And the silence is broke of my love letter betwixt the moon and the land.