The old wound

Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight? Or walked with God in the strong sunlight? 

Sun and Moon sit together in twilight. 

The best I've ever known has never been. All I've ever known has never existed. Was I born from the madness? Or the madness from me? 

The folly of believing in and loving your dreams is insanity 

In the last battle for Camelot, King Arthur was mortally injured by his bastard son Modred. 

As he laid in the arms of Lancelot, dying from his wounds he was known to have said. "It is the old wound, it never healed..."  And with that he passed.. Along with him passed Camelot, for it was only a dream in reality. 

I could never fully express it. And would find it far too complicated to explain. But it is far more painful than anything that I've ever felt. Reaching into a place that I cannot point to. The old wound has never healed. 

Dramatically poetic is the way I choose to express it. But it is quite brutal. It comes upon me whenever it has a notion to. It stays far longer than it is welcome. And it is never welcome. 

It is possessive and jealous and angered by my associations. Allowed only the remaining two. Haunted to remain without place to turn. Without safety, without harbor to shelter. 

With no Guinevere, no Lancelot. Just a princess and a court jester. No Camelot lost. Only the dream now gone. The old wound never healed...

~~~~~~~~~~~

 It came to me as a vision. It came to me as a testimony. As fate would have it, my 56th.