Kindred

The first word is dream
from my sleep
the darkness within my heart
it gently takes out

The second word was wind
telling me my destination
into the arms of a god
I flap my wings

As if counting sad things
that have melted away
a golden apple
falls again

A view I haven't seen
there I will return
in this one life
I will find my way

Book of old magic
a drop of moon on a curtain of night
only a hunch that someday we can meet

we can fly
we have wings
we can touch floating dreams
call me from so far
through the wind
in the light

The third word is hum...
when you strain your ears
your trembling arms
I will gently release...

I have sisters lost throughout this world that I will never see with my own eyes. Kindred spirits both male and female who can feel my words and see my heart tho some will never see my face beyond a found picture that has been misplaced. That makes this crowded, lonely world, so vast, seem smaller and more compact. What gratitude I feel to know that they are out there. Some have found my written word and left a message to be heard. While the gesture seems quite small my heart would swell in receipt of the call. In a world lost in material gifts, not much would speak as loudly as this and there is no way to express how I appreciate it.

Some of you can see me clearer than those that could see into my eyes, hear my voice, and can come so close as to feel the warmth of my skin. Tho, I have yet to believe that anyone can see thru me into my center. My grace lies in the written word. It is the only way that I can express the thoughts that swarm. In voice, my words stumble. They are misunderstood and misinterpreted. I am misjudged and often remain unseen. I receive fleeting compliments on my attractiveness and my good nature but they all seem to be on the surface level. There is so much that remains unseen. So much that gets cast aside. I come with a peaceful current and so many are so busy face down fighting and swimming against the current they do not even see me floating above them. Once I fade, hindsight kicks in.

My written words do not go as unnoticed. They don't fade the way that I do. They tell a story, hide a truth, and are not limited by the delicate balance of life and death. They go on to embrace those faithful kindred spirits that seek the writings out. So it seems that the secret to Moms-Secret was never the thoughts or the words or the writings, but the woman and the spirit that lies unseen within her.