. . . and then it started to flow

Poetry is strong and moves through me like a tender storm this evening. 

Those who know me will attest to my fire but not my delicacy. These past few days have seen that change, a softening has occurred, grasping became a caress and my soul found it's voice. It may not sing aloud but in every moment it cries silently for the beauty of being. 

I have found some special souls these past few days and my heart weeps for the memories it had forgotten it had forgotten. It took many ways and long times of working but finally the chains fell of their own accord. 

A gypsy gave my heart wings and my soul soared, it dared to dream again and the dreams are written on the wings of angels, and demons, may their sweet love making give us muse our hearts crack in trying to comprehend. 

And can I speak of the visionary? 

I fear to, for words would cripple her sight.