Crushing the Accursed Loneliness

Leaving the warm room, sparkling wine and lively chatter

I walk into the dead cold of the night.

Wanting to feel the soul, wanting to feel the intensity, I embrace loneliness

An accursed loneliness, even the gods despair of

A loneliness that hates loneliness

A loneliness that seeks a friend.

Not just a friend, but an intense Friend who touches the soul.

I peer into the mysterious heaviness about the dark woods

I wait for a friend to emerge. Not a twig moved.

I look up at the tree, an enormous being, so full of life.

Implore Him to talk to me.

He is silent as the dead dark night.

I walk back to my room, alone, through the dense night

Lo, was the Lover, the Groom waiting for His wayward Bride.

A Bride that sought, to no avail, in the frivolous and the mysterious

An eternal intensity to nourish her soul.

An intensity that is imbibed, only by Him who
Transcends space-time, and touches the soul.

That touches the soul, as the Bride is impregnated with the Spirit of the Groom
As He crushes with the heel of His feet, the accursed loneliness of being.