Date:         Sat, 17 Jun 1995 11:07:43 -0700

It's another Song:Challenge reply.  :)  The song is 'Spirit in the
Wasteland' by Rumours of the Big Wave.

Spirit in the Wasteland
by James Walkswithwind

**************************************************************************

        The dream pressed upon him again..

        In the flesh I feel the magic
        In your honest arms I can taste the truth
        In your eyes I come home again

        She was standing there on the patio, the stars reflecting in the
sheen of her hair, the glories of the universe shining in her upturned
eyes.  He felt a catch in his throat at the beauty before him; he felt a
resounding echo of a catch in his throat at the dim realisation that this
dream was a long departed memory.  He brushed that thought away and
released himself into his dream.
        She turned and smiled at him.  He couldn't help but return it,
the energy that lit her face seemed to coarse through the air and wind
its way into him.  He felt ancient for a moment, dry and withered as
dust, then her joy sparked a new life inside him and he felt as if he
could fly.
        Which he could, of course.  But this sensation that made his soul
tingle was altogether different.  He stepped closer to her and was again
amased, as he had been the first time and every time he relived this
moment, that she held out her hands and met him.  He thought for a moment,
about drawing her close and kissing her, and then she was drawing close
and letting him bend down to grace her lips with his own.

        I watch the lines dissolve between me and you
        If only for a moment until it comes round again
        I stand here at the edge with my heart wide open

        The memory was fading, he sat up in his sleep and reached out for
her, calling her name.  When the colours and songs of the dream faded
completely away he found himself trapped in his room in the middle of the
day.  He could feel her name on his tongue, it would be so easy to
whisper it again.  But she was gone.  She was dead and buried and all he
had with him to spend these long days was her dream.  He glanced up at
the heavy shades covering his windows, and thought about the world that
was just on the other side, only a few inches of cloth holding it back.
        He wondered if he should rise, and pour himself a drink and make
plans for the night; something to distract him from the dream.  He raised
his head, to stare at the ceiling, and saw the stars that had danced for him
throughout his long life.  He leaned back against the pillows, and smiled
as she returned to his memory.

        The sun breaks through my best defenses
        But I can't help but sing when I see you coming

        Even the pain of losing her could not quite overwhelm the love he
still felt for her.  And sometimes, like now, he could see her, remember
her, and only touch upon the joys.  He saw again their motions as they
walked into the gardens, gazed upwards along his arm, sighting out where
the stars lay.  He heard his voice whisper their names to her, and heard
in exquisite detail how hers repeated his own.
        He felt her hand resting gently on his arm, and found himself
trembling.  He saw himself turning, looking down into her face, and he
wanted to caress it, hold it, cherish it forever.  He wanted to bury
himself in her love and the light she held within her.

        I spent the warmth of my spirit in the wasteland
        Until the wasteland blossomed
        And the water ran over these dried bones

        She laughed at him.  He didn't now know what he'd said; he'd
joined the memory after he'd spoken.  He stood, transfixed, at the melody
of her delight.  He searched his memory and his charms for something else
to say, something which would spark that same reaction.  That sparkle in
her eyes and voice touched him and he wanted to bring her pleasures for
the rest of her life, so she could always smile.
        A soft touch of cold brushed through him.  For the rest of her
life.. twenty years? Thirty, if she was lucky?  He hadn't realised the
cold had showed in his face until her smile faded, and she stepped up to
him and placed her fingers gently on his cheek.  Her concern nearly
melted him.  What should he do?

        I died a thousand times on the cross of loneliness
        I burned my weary feet on the stones of separation
        In the circle of your arms I found redemption

        They sat together in the gardens they both loved so dearly.  She
was crying, he was fighting back tears.  He had told her he'd have to go,
it would never be possible for them to be together.  Her brother had
seen to that, spilling the truth in such an ugly way that he had been
forced to agree.  He could not bring her with them.  It would destroy the
very delicacy that drew him in and threatened to make him feel more alive
than he had since he was born.
        He tried not to listen to her words, as she promised she
understood, and promised she could accept.  Not the leaving, which
shocked him.  But the coming with him.  She placed her arms around his
neck, hugging herself to him, pretending not to notice the stiffness that
charged his body when she touched him so tenderly, even when she knew.
She knew what he was, and asked him to bring her with him.  He stared
into the sky, and tried to convince himself that her words could overcome
the truth he'd already been forced to see.

        And I know these feelings like the leaves upon the trees
        In their own sweet time will fall and cover me
        But I will kiss the ground that holds these memories

        He caressed her one last time, staring into the depths of her
eyes, trying to see past the tears and lose himself in the warmth that
lay there, lay there for him.  Her tried to ignore her trembling lips, as
he pressed his mouth onto hers.  He tried to ignore the anguish in her
soft sweet whispered goodbye, as he rose into the air.
        Seven hundred and sixty five years later he lay in his bed and
stared at the ceiling and thought of her.  He treasured these memories more
than anything in the world.. even when they cause him this much pain.  He
reached out his hand, trying to grasp hers; she'd held her hands up to
him, as he'd flown. Back then he'd kept his hands to his side, only
looking down at her slowly diminishing figure and told himself it was for
the best.  But now he reached into the memory and tried to hold on,
knowing that the best would have been to hold onto her as tightly as her
memories had held onto him.

        I spent the warmth of my spirit in the wasteland
        Until the wasteland blossoms
        And the water ran over these dried bones
        If only for a moment until it comes round again
        I stand here at the edge with my heart wide open

the end


James Walkswithwind         "Ueberlieferungsgeschichte.. is a longer and 
                                nobler name than fudge."
gila@jbx.com                                      AE Housman