There is no touch of another
Nor sound of the voice
There is no life of another
Nor is there found a life at all
Until that which we dream is realized.

I could walk the valleys of the ancient world
Or stand upon the great mountain of the forever sight
Ye even to drift inside the torrent river of now
and still it is that she has been and will always be

One cannot image the power I have held in my own hands
Or the stages of the realm of human desire I have withstood
Neither will there be found one
Who knew the very balance of life and death given to me
Without their destiny stood alike in experience

Even with the rod of strength
Surrounded by the brotherhood of kings
Where servants reign over lords of the world
And the Muse is furthermore remembered
There is known among all the dream of beautiful dreams

For there are indeed the women of women
And even beheld are the lovers of lovers
Stretching into the everlasting time
Will there be the Wanton of the Wanton
But still among them all is One even greater

She is as the Sun who did rise in the heart of a young man
Illuminating herself upon the faces of all other women
She is as the moon who did rise in the night of our thoughts
Casting away all other dreams for that which we truly desire
She is as the flesh of our own flesh
Where holiness does invoke itself in our searching
That we would make right what has been wronged
That we would lay waste to childishness for salvation
That we would fulfill the promise of creation itself

I can still see the first time I saw her as though it was this very moment
As too can I feel the first time I felt her in my heart
As though my heart heeded not time or space or distance of any kind
As it was in that seeing and feeling also is it forever there
As it cannot be forgotten
Even unto that day when it was so in the sight of others

There is no corner of any world to hide
For any man who knows the weight of his knowing
Nor can there be any peace in the heart of him
Who denies in fear the space in which she is in him
As it boils under his skin, taring at his span
Where the soul flees from the grave without
While a foreigner lays in his bed

Truly the reality of it
Is as the banishment of all other realities
Where such payment is made to the wishing well
Because it must
Because it is death to do any less
Because there is no life without the whole of my Body
As it is known in the origin of mans desire itself

All other things
Indeed all other people
Even the names and faces of heroes shall fail
And legends shall pass away
Harlots will play before the eyes
Whores will exact their toll of lies
And Usurpers are they all
As we even know unto ourselves to be true
Of that one we knew before we knew her
And that one we saw before we saw her
and that one who touched us before she touched us
and that one who found our secret heart
Truly again that coupling is impossible to express
Of that One who is forever and unquestionably

Ryan o0o


All Words and Images (unless otherwise noted)
Copyright © 2005-2014 Ryan Ranney & Colleen Ranney – Ranney Studios
“Colleen” Painting/Image ©2014 Ranney Studios – Colleen Ranney All Rights Reserved