एक़ुइएम फॉर थे हार्ट ऑफ़ अ सिस्टर.

In the waxing light of a cold fall morning, I sit in partial consciousness and rest.

The bustle of a new day rustles in the distance like a tornado of leaves caught in a whirlwind, but it has yet to arrive.

My heart aches from the push, to pour love over the tortured heart of my soul sister, who lays in a hospital recovering.

Decades of study did not prepare me for the darkness that I faced the night before, yet I pushed on.

Written in scripture and song, in poem and verse, the power of love is legendary... yet not always a force for goodness and light.

For humans twist it into the form of our demons when we cannot understand its value, and let it die a gruesome death when it does not shield us adequately from fear.

Love is a home grown thing, nurtured in the womb and protected in the circle of hearts that is a family.

Love is a passionate thing, fed in the imagination of the young and fattened in the arms of lovers.

Yet it becomes a merciless master when it begins to act of its own accord, driving its owners to actions of selfish debauch and deceit.

What lessons lie here, on the dark floor of my bedroom, needing a gentle rain of patience to bloom into fully opened wisdom?

I sit in the waxing light of the morning sunrise, bathed in the magick that is the dawn.

I inhale hope, as I breathe out the acrid scent of a dying love from the night before.

And I wait...