Halls of the Dark Muse

There are some moments so scared in their simplicity, that they move through the soul, as oceans. Leaving your torn in between, for it would seem a blasphemy, a betrayal of the self, of the moment, of the spirit to speak of such monumental miniscule things to ears that fail to grasp full understanding, and would either nod their heads in some pretended meaning or hide the mockery within their own untouched eyes, counting off the lies they believe they see, or calling upon delusions and illusions. Yet you remain bursting pure at the seams, to speak of the glory which ripples through time, sinking deep inside, for your energy vibrates with a connection made, a moment when all should be, would be, suspended and two become one, joined together, in their recognition of each other. Blessed by such a small unlikely touch, which speaks of volumes beyond any spoken sound, there is only you and the secret knowledge, that no words could make other's see whom are blind to what has been felt. Chosen by the ancient mystic, to see for a moment with more clarity then has ever been bestowed. Lingering in their enchantment, you know, it whispers through you like the wind, like the beat of near invisible fragile wings, you know, but others could never know, if they have not been so touched, and there are those whom would brush it off, send it spiraling away out of control, while only believing they know, but something from bowls of the earth has spoken wordlessly to you, who can see it, see it without eyes, but with the inner light what shines in the charka or enlightenment, and just as it has come, it is gone, and slowly, slowly, with each passing second it begins to fade, but never, never to completely evade something within your memory.