Why is it that when I beg to see your face I find myself the most afraid, shivering cold and alone in achromatic black, unable to breathe, unable to think or speak your name because all around thick unknown overwhelms, and I feel icy the rivulet of sweat run slow down the middle of my back?
Why is it that before you appear dream-like, I drift off to rest by the side of the way, wait paralyzed in slumber, and only then You surge bold over dark mounds, rush my face with blinding shafts, and I realize I cannot see because my eyes are plastered shut by glory?
And why is it that when I wake, the glory fades distant into the heart of me, and the sky lends the same gray, and the sun no longer shines as bright as it used to?
Posting today for One Shot Wednesday. Come join us?
Photo Credit: flickr - orsorama