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And the Lady is waiting...

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Jayne Dullahan

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I write not of art, not of what I know, and yet in the artistic condition, under the premise that a theraputic attempt to record the artistic condition is all I know to do. I stand at the bottom of an abyss, and feel nothing.

If I could only write a song...

Midnight in my heart and I wish the sun would go away. The time when I could be really alone and the night would seem bigger than it ever has before. Just the light of the pagescreen here and a star or two in the black black sky; then the abyss would be inside and out and it would feel right to be who I am. I saw the light of love in your steps, a light I've not seen in so many months, and I felt like the distance between us had gone, and I wanted to find my old place at your side. I found you in a moment when your eyes were still busy, and I took your hand and you looked at my face--for the first time, in a long time, and I thought maybe...everything is alright. And I felt my smile was unlocked from its prison, I looked in your eyes and I started to sing, words that were funny, but that came from my heart, if not from my pen or from papers of then. I started to sing, and I hoped you would hear it, and smile and hold on and see into my heart...

but the distance I fear has been too great and too long, and your eyes fell away and you ran from my hand. You ran from my hand, you were startled and frightened, my heart fell in two and I stared at the wall. When you ran my thoughts shattered, when I was sure they couldn't anymore.

I fade away again.

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So beautiful

immense is the emptiness yet in only takes a drop to fill and overflow

where is this place; is it the pit of existance

sarah

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So beautiful

immense is the emptiness yet in only takes a drop to fill and overflow

where is this place; is it the pit of existance

sarah

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