Despairing, You Call to Me

I have known such nights, when all that holds me to this
Mad sphere is the memory of love.  Intimations of
A warmth, a far, far light.  Not the fiery blaze, the
Growling, churning storm.  Far weaker, yet
It holds, tethered by silver cord.  Not even a
Nested hearth-fire, and yet, I cannot quite despair
Adrift in light.  That trembling spar cries out
To hold, hold on -- for once there was music; flutes played
Indigo night.  Once my soul leapt rather than crawled
Over life's small terrors, flying freely.  Fear
Not, beloved, for this too shall pass.

*****
M.A. Mohanraj
April 6, 1995