The Wanderer

What is she like?

I was told –

she is a melancholy soul.

 

She is like

the sun to the night;

a momentary gold.

 

A star when dimmed

by dawning light;

the flicker of a candle blown.

 

A lonely kite

kept lost in flight –

someone once had flown.

It’s like a war raging inside when your head behaves like an economist, and your heart’s like a Shakespearean poet. Each day you fight for resolution, each day you fight for some peace and some tranquility. Even for just a bit of silence.

The mind demands rationality, it sorts things into two simple buckets – cost and benefit. It is straightforward. The weight of each bucket will tell you the answer.

The soul fights for something more, something intangible that the mind doesn’t believe. Things that you can’t put into any bucket. Things that transcends beyond rationality, that cuts deep through the infinity of your being. Things that you can’t quite find words to describe.

How do you move on without letting go?

Emily Dickinson

” To fight aloud is very brave,
But gallanter, I know,
Who charge within the bosom,
The cavalry of woe.

Who win, and nations do not see,
Who fall, and none observe,
Whose dying eyes no country
Regards with patriot love.

We trust, in plumed procession,
For such the angels go,
Rank after rank, with even feet
And uniforms of snow.”