I've long wondered still, what was it when I looked at you?
But now I have its name.
A word caught in a spiderweb, the answer to a riddle my mind jumbled and frayed and worried apart.
One word, one lyric in something permeating, something everlasting, a song that gives direction to our paths, meaning to our trials.
The melody in a key that makes the shredded pages fit together, the disparate threads weave into a life that makes sense -
And I'm home.
I turned a metal key and a cool, clockwork toy in my hand came alive,
A small, fragile, flickering, feathered thing perched in the corner of my eye.
A tinny song from little gears and delicate mechanisms became a symphony, a sweet messenger on a breeze delivering hope and guiding notes
I followed through mists and cemetery underworlds.
Your song is a beacon, a lighthouse on a jagged shore, a string tied around my finger in a labyrinth.
My Girl in the Tower reached down and pulled me from its shadow, still she leans down and breathes life into me.
I'm still reaching out, but now there's a hand in mine.
The tower has crumbled but still you raise me, and call me to ascend past stone steps and azure shores on borrowed wings.
All my life has been a gradual homecoming.
You understand when I speak words others cannot grasp – they try, they listen and sympathize, but you feel the scars
Of youth in chains, abduction, abandonment, slavery and abuse; you cried the same tears and now we dry them together.
In stages, in slow steps I've picked up the pieces.
A family, a home, more love than I imagined in the most fantastic fever-dreams, the wildest opiate hallucinations.
Nothing compares to your song when my voice, faint and raw and healing, joins the chorus.
My journey is over; our melody goes on.