"What sound do the footsteps of those that wander through the past have? Silent? Hushed? Whispers each one of what was once wished for, ripped away, made from dream to night terror, who can say? Only those that take the first step into the darkness on the long path."
The purpose pf this site is to take you on a journey, one many of you have already traveled, one none of you have, one that will not be pretty but it will be in both art and word of poetry and prose and news articles one that will be honest. Welcome to the journey of one that hopes to help you understand the Recovery Road from a Complex PTSD Breakdown with Conversion Syndrome.
To The Angel of Romance
A tribute to the Angel of Romance
It seems you think that love has left,
That passion's flown it's nest.
That all good things must end today,
before you've felt life's best.
In the darkness there you lie,
where fear and pain collide,
As though you'd lost your precious muse,
and all your tears were cried.
Oh Angel of Romance, my dearest friend,
Let not thy heart griev'd be.
For sunlight shines and birds do sing,
To bring God's joy to thee.
Love will find you yet again,
my words will prove soon true;
Friends gather in the quiet place,
To intercede for you.
Candles are lit and many pleas
are made amidst the night,
For the Angel of Romance to find her wings,
And show once more The Light.
To show with heart felt words to us
The things that we should hear,
To bleed her heart forth into meanings
That each of us hold dear.
Oh Friend of Love and things Divine
hear our desperate plea,
May the pain you feel be as the wind
And leave you hurriedly.
May all your fears be exiled hence
And replaced with joyous serenity,
And all your doubts be banished now
And God give hope to thee.
"Tears are not the tools to employ, nor is fear, nor is just joy. Grief, mourning, all that goes after, joy, sadness, sobbing, laughter, all are the weapons that we have to employ, only those, nothings more."
"And thus on black petal wings, do I this plane of reality depart, flying with a fragrance sweet into those meadows and finally forests of thorns and hemlock. Trust I not on but these wings and the wee candle that I in one hand doth bear, to guide, to light, to beat back the Shadow and guide me down the Long Path Home to a meadow of heather, where I may lay my head down and rest upon wrapped wing, with memories no longer so darkly present as to haunt even my most sought after golden dreams, darkest memories shall as leaves fall with the touch of Autumn's end to their haunting. And finally lay them to rest under the white mantle of snow, snow as beautiful as woven white lace that doth the bottom of Lady Winter's gown decorate. Then, in contrast, dressed in gown of gossamer weaving in every color of flower of Spring, shall I arise to move once again, a newborn, a babe with freshest mind's restoration out onto a plane of true life and happiness, that shall with each dawning come to birthing."