To Sylvia, for the Breeze and the Wildfire

Bitter memory, keeps me/you close to me. Intervening years, and the ones on the journey, obscurely, they don't threaten the memory. Not a touch and hardly a word between, yet, somehow there can be no release from the grip of your achievement. Somewhere inside of the psychic self, I know the truth of you and your progression, but truth is difficult to find in embitterment. What kind of connection was this? when all that it suggested was confusion? In the days, when love was a lie, and lies were piled on lies? My brightness, which is my spirit will not let you colour it. Affection expressed and then denied, and turned to anger and mockery, from mind to mind, in the telepathic way, and if I had forgotten you, you would completely belong to the past, and to your own past, perhaps your lonely past, and songs sang of you at your own behest, songs that I couldn't touch, couldn't look at. I wonder of the trouble in your soul, and I wonder where you are, if indeed you are. Strange how time has a moment riding on its wave, can't seem to be able to free itself. And it seems that for that day, there was to be no new tomorrow, freedom remains a far off place, from hauntedness.