Solitary days and humble nights

Words

How should one express with words what one is feeling. Perhaps a sudden or subtle elegant approach may be necessary. Yet my own words may concede within themselves as I struggle to keep my composure. A gentle yet harsh feeling. To be having a soft joyful taste yet a sharp bitter sight. So what words do I have left to say to you and how might you create your interpretation of my essence in the afterlife. I find pleasure in solitude and in the success that is born through our marriage. Yet when did I ever become divorced from companionship. This marriage pains my soul like a knife yet pleases my heart like a lovers kiss. I wonder if this is why I reject another's touch. Have I become a bride being wed to solitude. Fate is my child we are one in the same. Why am I told to hate my own child that which I have created. For that which I create comes from me and is mine. My fate I raise up and guide down the right path much like a small child. For my fate came from my being and I have headship to guide this which is my own. What confusion I understand. What burning frostbitten emotions. My child grows up the way I raise it up. Being one in the same flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, and soul of my soul. We are one in the same being of spirit made complete. My words fail me time and time again. My tongue has never been silver so the deep words are like a swords wound. Both pierce my heart yet my soul does not die. How I am broken yet believed to be complete. I'm without help yet help is in front of my. I am of noble blood yet choose to live a beggar's life. My words have always been short of what I feel. Describing what my soul speaks into words from my lips has always slipped perfection. This darkened light. This painful bliss. Finding both relief yet sorrow in being apart from my heartstrings. When my blood runs and stains my flesh will I find the words to cry out in suffering? I rather concede to the feeling and let the stains turn to scars. I can never shed tears nor find the words to describe my soul's being. My soul is loud and my mind filled with a universe of my creation. My words live in that universe and elude capture so I may never speak them free. That's why my tongue is not silver and words leave rust upon my voice.