Find My Way To You

Irrelevant words, when the one who wrote them is not longer whole, no longer tied to the currents of romance.

I can always find my way to you

In the days that seem forever

On the darkest nights of winter

As our bodies touch, this love anew.

I can always find my way to you. 

In the strong relentless currents

On the defiant days of summers

As my hand lingers, this love anew.

Forget the anchor that ties us here

And remember not the storm ahead.

Or the drowning hours leading up

As our eyes search for light.

I can always find my way to you.

Reviews

[Kim S.]

Forget the anchor that ties us here
And remember not the storm ahead.

I really love these lines here, This is wonderful...
love the emotions

[CLR9]

sometimes, the road to one you love never ends. You are walking and walking, and then, the love flees. It's a very hard thing to do, but not one to give up on! Very sweet poem.

[An owl on the moon]

Your thoughts and feelings seem to flow through so much pain, yet cling to a thread of hope... the belief that somehow you can trace the path back to the one you love... This is the place I find myself currently... the shadowed place... the waiting place. Your words speak to that deeper world in me somehow.

[Perdition]

Irrelevance is a tool and power, It has a juice or even greater sting and presence when disclaimed by the author, negating the actual irrelevance itself. Especially when the person is claiming to no longer be whole. Thus anything becomes possible as "relevant".
Loved the lines "On the defiant days of summer... As my hand lingers, this love anew",
The whole of your search and siege seems to hinge from this point. I might or may have left the winter "nights" singular with which would bring a distinct focus or greater madness/impact to the haunt for me. Allowing a specificity to the piece that would grow fangs, as if a memory has left you disabled while still able to hunt, as you press "this way".
Great to have you back and just as chilling and passionate as ever. You most certainly HAVE grown up young lady. Keep writing out your gift and I will most assuredly read the viscous nature by which you have arrived. All love contains remnants of deep injury and carries a ghost that ripples into the next~ Hopefully it grows rather than feasts..but everything for a reason.

[ambur]

I love the idea you've posed in making "nights" singular. It makes the line more personal, and that I can relate. There is one night in winter, my feelings opposite of this poem, that always lingers on m mind.

I was lightly and beautifully intoxicated by the many glasses of wine I had just consumed, and my feelings entered and exited my body like the breaths that seemed so painful. The window was ajar, and the cool night of winter graced my presences like the ghost of the past. I lay there, letting my skin ripple in chills. I was aware of everything: the way my hair lay across the sheets, the way my lips were slightly open, the way my hands lay, the motion of my chest as I breathed in that cold air, every sound in the dark distance, and the way my head was no longer heavy. I felt something I've never felt, and I crave that moment again everyday. There was something about the moment that left me with a feeling I can never describe perfectly.

[Perdition]

So why isn't this the poem? It's beautiful…The details are by far extremely sensual, disrupted, and a moment when winter is as winter will be , entering you and like love leaving you lost in the cold dark aspect of where you want to be and cannot for fear of the reality that we are more than just one moment. We are the breath and song of every season and every night that we let in…night after night the song becomes our breath and we are wanting so badly to hold on to that moment or at least share it with the page or a lover who is willing to surrender a need to control or understand who and what you are capable of becoming…night after night. This particular night sounds as if you were kissing the winter well and by doing so transcending into the climate of your heart and soul. That is the essence of poetry and finding your way with eyes of dilation and fangs as well~ Mostly a girl who grew herself into that night and felt alive and lost and willing to become the season if it meant see would be opened by force or con-existence to being alive~ Just a thought that your words scream to this shaman.

[Perdition]

if it meant "she" would be opened….

[ambur]

And yet, you weren't there, and you can describe it perfectly. It's not a poem because I felt compelled to share with you a memory in time, written just in the spur of the moment.

[Perdition]

Well then it's quietly and emotionally my "compelling" poem and thank you for the sharing..and who says I wasn't there? :P

[ambur]

It would be unsettlingly to think of your presence outside my small Maryland apartment window, and nevertheless to not make your presence known.

[Perdition]

Wait a sec ..you live a state away from me? How cool is that! and yes I often travel on the wings of night simply to be a witness in the pains. Not to unsettle but rather gaze into the process of the art. There is a loneliness and passion that emanates from that window and I am sure you are aware of all presence and purposes. Seriously though…I would never not make my presence known and ..a single state away?? Why have we never met in the middle and gone bowling? I think I deserve bowling alley fries with mustard and poetry. But whatever..lol.

[ambur]

That was then. I've since moved back to my home state of Indiana last year. I lived in Maryland for five years and Pennsylvania for one year. (: But bowling alley fries and poetry sounds interesting.

[Perdition]

It does doesn't it? Five years of inspiration just tossed..bummer! Although I am a John Mellencamp fan (mostly now for his writing) so I guess you never know as I believe you probably live somewhere near him, although he rarely calls anymore. Well, I guess the words will be the pins by which we either strike or strike out for now. But if I ever head to the great state or you return to the Chesapeake please let me know as I'll let you as well and we'll have to get good and fat on fries and words as well. Love the 'irrelevance" ambur and stop growing..you're dragging me with you.

[ambur]

I'm 27, believe me. I wish I could stop growing; with growing up you also grow old. But I'm always dabbling in the Chesapeake. I always felt we had a poetic connection. It's not everyday you find yourself speaking in lyrical cause for 8 years.

[Perdition]

Hey!! I just realized you are essentially calling me old..lol. As for the eight years, wow! we really have been speaking in lyricical connection for that long haven't we ? Wow, well so obviously my answer would be No, It most certainly is not everyday that you find yourself speaking in lyrical cause for 8 years. Then again I do have a tendency to speak with the universe so…? well let me know next time that you dabble with time in this direction and maybe we can skip stones eat fries and debate the greater artists and poets of the last century with each other and write out these poetic connections. Till then I still can not believe it's been eight years. Are you retired yet?