This is my entry for @rensoul17's Writing impact challenge.

The idea is to select 2 or 3 worlds from a list of 50, andwrite an evocative piece.
I have done this. But I am still learning to do things by halves, so have included all 50 words in the ramble.

Yes I confess it is indeed a ramble.

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A captive echo of myself in the darkness.

Coffee by my side
I sit in almost darkness.
My room lit by the light of a single lamp, and
The shimmer of moonlight.
A phantom vision on my curtain
As it dances on the wind,
To music I can not hear.
Intwined with street lights
And the leaves of the ghost gums.

I dare to allow myself
A moments reflection.
Visions of times long past,
Like a dream I can never touch,
When darkness and light
Held meaning.

As I sit
Captive in my home,
The rising and setting of the sun
Comes and goes,
as do people.
Me, I always remain,
I stay.
Captive.

The rhythm of the sun and moon.
Captive too in their cycle,
I am but an observer.
Many nights I have sat in the moon light
Grappling with an epiphany
out of reach.
No fire light for my soul.
I am warm and safe in this tepid room,
Though stuck in a purple hazed dream.
A fog.

At night I sit,
Searching the darkness.
Watching the moon.
Like a giant pearl in the sky,
She holds pieces of me.

Sometimes I would give anything
To touch her.
The moon.
Dare to dream
That she conceals my virtues.
I giant orb
For safe keeping.
Out of reach.
Memories,
Locked away
In yellowing photographs.

Echoes of happiness and gratitude,
and the profoundly evasive epiphany.
That would once fill my mind with passion,
And light my eyes with a fire
and a thirst.

Such beauty
no longer lingers.
As a swan sails silently down river
On the lightest wind,
So too has my passion.
To care.
Sailed down stream.

Simply an echo of the past
Like my father.
Still outside my window,
Somewhere.
As allusive as trying to catch the wind,
Shimmering on the leaves
That dance upon my window frame.
Or the light of the sun on the horizon,
as it too shimmers,
upon the distant ocean.

Yes I can hear the loathsome music
of my lone violin.
I sit and listen.
I breathe,
Sinking into it's ocean.

The snow thickens
In defence of my contained mind.
Should her unwelcome mournful tune
Attempt to breathe life
Into a smouldering fire.

Sometimes her music
entwines with the constant buzz
That never leaves.
Together their rhythm dares to set fire.

The simplest notion
Causing a spark.
I see red.
It quickens.
Furor of incense transfuses like fire.
Behind my eyes
It blazes.
I feel it now
Touch my skin.
Burning.

For a moment I can not breathe,
Lit by its fiery rage.
The watery recesses of my mind
Now a river,
Threaten the snow and fog
That fortify my conflicted captivity.

It's torrent,
Threatens rain.
I feel the tide behind my eyes.
I breathe.
Attempting to touch upon anything that may
still the oceans that menace...

It seems like only yesterday I was basking
In the summer sun.
As autumn was upon us I welcomed her.
The change of season
Always a cyclic rhythm to embrace.

How long have I been encased in snow?
From my eyes,
A single drop of rain.
It falls like a pearl.

I touch it.
For a moment,
The elusive is not just an echo
Out of reach in the darkness.

Only one word is left.
I have anguished with this word.
Where to place her.
Mother.

I close my eyes and allow the wind to carry her.
Back behind my tear drop.
Captive.
As I am.
In the snow
That has already begun
To fall upon us both.
Encasing.
Holding back the seasons,
Holding her captive.
Out of reach,
Safe.

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