of a future littered with lights that would expel a brilliance illuminating moment after moment after moment.
We would be as one, bonded by languages seasoned with delight and the common speech of love, the need for explanation gone.
You did not mention tears and isolation, each and every thought burdened with a grief so huge its shadow describes my life, my life.
Now I have become a memory that is easy to forget, a kind of dream that is difficult to recall but there, still there.
One day I shall become the angel who promises love, a communion of souls entwined and thoroughly touched. Until then I shall wait, my language gone,
my love absorbed into the light of Sisyphus whose shadow, black and bloodied, encircles the earth dictating miseries.
John Cornwall