For it is in your hands,
the soft sweet sensual
nature of her demeanor,
a smile that fades in mind.
For it is when we do know love,
the ache inside our body
is enough to want to
stop the motion of life itself.
For it is in this my tears,
I try with all the strength
in my soul,
to understand the freedom.
For it will be forever,
my heart in its organicity
always bleeds a tear.
For it is the silent melody
of a broken heart,
with no mend,
only a haunting silence.
I struggle with words,
they seem to carry on a certain storyline,
one I can never really grasp,
until the print allows my eyes to remember,
the swimming in motion ends
when it becomes the right time to let go.
I’d like to find the imagery in pain,
is it the steel edge cutting into a red ribbon,
where eyes might watch the soul slip away
in steady stream
no more hesitation,
a quiet, soothing, not so eternal release.
A friend of mine once said to me,
it is true we live our lives a very short time,
so in that span of countless hours,
we might remember love,
for it is that spiritual energy allows our smile,
if only for a brief instant,
to give us hope, a meaning and reason to survive.
I know that sometimes words might convey meaning,
but if it isn’t felt then they do become
only a semantic journey filled with imagery and pause.
Oh it’s true, not simply a mockery
we often appear to be more cagey
I’ve carried the wounds of childhood,
in order to find comfort in that I would.
This life I lead is sometimes a travesty
I hurt people to benefit me, simplicity.
A long time ago, she seemed to agree
yet still today I haven’t a place to be.
I live in a bubble some might decide
if pierced life would surely need subside.
Yet, somehow I maintain an integrity
one that surely lives on in subtlety.
She is the maker of my dreams I swoon
though it is me shatters imagery too soon.
I wonder about this state of mind tonight
is it really all that matters or that might.
I can feel my body is resolute with despair
I cannot move from this place to there.
I wish that I could feel a sense of response
to rather know the pain than cause a ponce
I’m a quiet man inside my lonely mind
there’s far too much memory to remind.
I hope that time might heal the pain I cause
for as much as time for me does give pause.
I love to know that my life here does exist
for the need to disappear I then might resist.
my mother would reference this place,
a sort of mental ravine,
her heart might nearly stop,
eyes would glaze?
blood flow in her feigns might suddenly,
spill into one pool of spun lethargy.
This was not a place
she liked to be,
she’d often howl at the nature
of love and all it’s failings.
yet, she never discovered a solution?
only knew when inside?
not a lesser degree of pain
could ever exist.
where my mother was always never to pull the plug,
I might decide otherwise,
though my freedom would be sought?
there leaves a ring of memory,
clinging to everyone’s personal psyche.
This is where I find myself,
crying, alone, wishing,
wondering always how I might end up here.
And those days,
those occasional hours,
when I can step away,
and find myself walking clearly far beyond,
those few indications of a ‘spirtual forgiveness,
those days when I can simply live,
without wild abandon,
with that desire to let go completely,
those are the moments,
even the only minutes,
I choose to love,
and that happens with you,
I mean, I believe we all do it.