Gypsy Tell Me What's To Become Of Me

Gypsy Woman,

     Fears and reflections wage a constant battle within my soul. Reflections upon the visions of her I hold tightly in my memory, and the fear time instills in my heart when I think of losing her, are a constant jumble in my mind. They seem to be my constant dual companions, as I enter each new day. Over my morning's coffee I see wonderful visions of her smile in my mind's eye. But fear creeps in and changes what should be an exciting day. Gypsy, I am possessed what is to become of me...

     She came to me last night again in a vision, invading my dreams, fanning the flames of my desire. I climbed the peaks of pleasure in visions of her beauty, I then traversed the valley of loneliness with my sighs in the emptiness of my bed. Constant flashes of passion's flames, contrasted with the emptiness of my world. The mountain peaks of my mental travels are reached each night as I retire; but as night progresses my mind betrays me, as fears continues their un-relenting march through my turbulent dreams...

     For this past year my emotions have been like a nightly explorer, trekking through lofty mountains, mountains interspersed with deep valleys. I find myself drawn ever closer to the abyss by the unrelenting passage of time as we remain apart; and through my growing fear I will never possessing her. At quite times each day, when my anticipation of coming passions should be expanding, growing, calling and thrilling, I find myself vacillating between burning desires and passions on the one hand, and my fears and desperation on the other, my courage has escaped me...

     My backwards reflections to the times when she was in my arms are strong, for the moment, they are only the fragile life-lines to which I cling, my sustaining strength. Tell me gypsy, how long shall they hold? At what point does my loneliness draw me over the brink and down into the final abyss?

     How long can the remembered scents of her body fill my nostrils in my empty days? How long can the remembered touch of her soft warm skin remain on my hands during my lonely nights? How long can I stare out my empty window looking forward to her approach once again? How much longer can my soul be sustained by listening to the melody of her music she played upon my soul?

     At what mystical point in time does the vast terrible emptiness of my life come crushing in and roll over my memories, crushing the feeble power of my reflections and forever bury my hope? I will pay your price Gypsy, make her come to me, come to me again in the night, refresh my soul, play her soft music once again on the strings of my heart...

~ Dave ~

If you enjoyed reading this tale told here on the porch swing please share it with your friends!

Mail To The Cowboy Night Writer

NEXT      BACK      HOME

© 2001/2010 Dave ~ Cowboy Night Writer

PalletMaster's Workshop®.

"There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval."