The Gale and the Mist

In the practice of OM
sacred fire
and light
the thought of ascension was once my delight

One-pointed and stalwart I fancied my heart
beyond the reproach of all fragments, apart

It seemed quite as though
the food and drink of my soul
wouldever rain from pursuit of what I called “the goal”

Yet stolen away is my lofty aspiration
The breath of symposium has stirred a bright cation-
attracted to a personage of beauty profound
a positive charge that roots me in the ground

A part of her world, I would gladly become
scorned, betrayed, and flattened by some

My compassion desires that her heart be succored
but her wounds are more costly than my strength can afford

Still I will try, if she’ll have what I offer
to lighten the load of a world that would scoff at her

She will not be mine, and though I’m left aching
her good is the goal my resolve will be taking

tempest such as this, I didn’t know could exist
A dragonfly caught in the gale and the mist

My fist assails bark, and parts, unaffected
but the heart sheds its metel to be so connected

Perhaps in due time, I’ll regain my composure
but within the fierce tempest, I’m left bare
to exposure