Soul Hemorrhage

Me: Hey thanks a bunch universe you've given me so much recently and rekindled my hope. I'm grateful...keep going, if you want to.

Unknown: ...let me just take that all away in a few moments and tear down all the high rise anchor points you've envisioned.

Me: It hurts but I will not wallow in sadness over this. Thanks anyway... must've been a joke? Or maybe an appraisal of some sort?

No reply.

           I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

by W.B. Yeats from The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)