by Xve
is like trying to catch a soap bubble as it floats in
the air.
There it is, shiny, reflective, happy and just plain, all around cool.
If you rush for it – your sudden moves with cause it to float
further, farther and faster away.
Or worse … burst.
If you grab it, it will definitely burst.
You can’t tell where it will fall, nor can you control where it goes.
The harder you try, the thinner the skin on it becomes.
And eventually, you’ve got to say to yourself…
What the fuck am I doing this for?
Pinch the Wall
I could not find,
The crest of the wall.
So I might steady
my head,
And allow to fall –
My pouring tears
straight down into
my cup.
For me to tilt my
head,
And drink them
back up
A long night of letting go
Goes by really slow.
As you feel each uncomfortable twang
and every stabbing prick, from your
blood running thick – to a boil.
As your stomach twists in knots, from
the sheer agony of the painful memories
of your natural world.
These are normal occurrences in modern life.
But, it’s another matter, when it’s a matter
of the heart.
And a face and a voice, you can match to
what so severely smarts.
When you recall from the junkyard of opaque
memories, that which would be your home grown
remedy to loving someone so deeply.
And knowing, perceiving and wishing, that
your vision of healing, would come miraculously
true.
Then, reality sets in, that the world is in flux,
people are morally devoid and the world revolves,
like a revolver, waiting to kill its next victim.
The wires of your nerves run hot in overload,
down your back, causing a spasm that swells
in the back of your neck, so you will never
forget, this dark hour of the soul.
That person, is all you want to hold, to chase away
the decay, of your already brittle emotions.
To sew up the fissure rip in your heart, that
stretches a little more with each fallen tear.
Why? What? How? is all your ears repeat,
like a drumbeat to feed the gnawing hunger
in the block of ice that has become your gut.
The fetal position never felt so good. As you
become the only one who can give you a caring
and sympathetic hug.
Is there a shut off switch to your mind, as it recycles
itself thousands of times, through the situations of
things that you should have or hoped not to have
said?
As it swirls through the moments that brought you
the thoughts, that made you think you were in love
anyway in the first place.
Memories clash with nightmares, quivering out
more tears, as you ache for a break to the agony
of rejection.
How could someone leave me in such a position?
Why do I deserve this tension, when all I wanted
was to be an answer, or have a simple hope in
loving someone, and receive that love back from
this person in return.
Is this not the basis of life itself?
A cool stain on the pillow, reminds you that,
There is much more in the world.
That feelings do exist,
That being human can hurt beyond words,
And that love is hard won, or easily tricked,
but rarely, if ever,
stolen.
Swing Batter
Here’s the wind up.
the pitch –
There goes my heart,
like a blood covered slider.
Or a slippery knuckle ball,
smart trajectory, then it falls.
Only problem is,
there’s no batter –
or no catcher –
and I suck as a pitcher.
I’m just a fool who throws
his heart everywhere,
hoping somewhere, it’ll
stick.
And not be treated like
gum on the bottom of someone’s
shoe.
But that’s the norm, the usual –
like what’s asked for at a neighborhood
bar.
Two dates and a spit in the face,
over a bowl of flies and lies.
And yet, I still try, to hold my head
high. With grace –
through my tears and depressed sighs.
The game has been rough,
though people look at me from
a profile and think it’s easy for me.
Maybe I just make it look that way,
of I fake it well, or tell a great lie.
Some say –
I play the wrong fields, or
I challenge the poorest choice
of teams.
But, I try to believe in people,
no matter the manner of their
league.
Maybe I’m predisposed to
plainly striking out?
And trudging away from home
base, with my head hung low –
Until the next game.
Love Dies Like a Child
Because, it’s on the inside.
Behind our eyes and clothed in
sinew and skin.
Because the world is plagued
and shrouded in misery and sin.
We walking wounded, who
are partially demised, find it
so hard to realize, that the love
inside of us, dies like a child.
_____________________
Have you ever watched one?
An innocent baby, fast asleep?
Knowing that there is a world,
growing and learning inside, with
enough happiness to actually make
you weep?
In playing and knowing, and times
of such joy and delight in showing –
Knowing, that as they rest, peacefully,
that their only real hope in life is You.
Have you ever watched a small child
at play?
In their rather cute and clumsy way?
As they perfect their balance and adjust
their stance –
Then they look up at you and smile.
It’s because they know, that your heart
swells with love for them all the while.
You would do anything, anything !
For them. Even die.
They don’t need to have all the answers
all the time, all they need to know is that
you’re their world of safety.
So, there's no comparison, really,
other than when you’re childless
and barren, searching for love, and
alone
And you realize something.
That loving someone, and finding
that love, expressing that love, and
receiving that love – is a natural part
of life – like having children.
And when it’s rejected, that crush that
hits, can scatter your wits, and drop you
to your already shaking knees.
Love – dies like a child, inside.
Innocently.
Softly.
Poignantly.
with Memories,
Leav
ing a torn hole of empty –
And the imaginations of a world
of potential, sorrow turned inside
out of hopeful, of someone who
wanted, needed and would have
tried –
To grow that love successfully,
as they would have that beautiful
child.
What do you do?
(….but feel the pain.)
What do you do?
When you like someone and you know inside, it’s true?
But they just don’t seem to like you?
It’s such a pity,
because you feel the pain.
What a drain.
Couldn’t it be simple?
That they just - like you back?
Doesn’t it hurt to wonder?
Just what do I lack?
Is it my smile?
Is it my eyes?
To that which they despise?
(Maybe despise is a harsh word.)
But it feels like it.
And it seems like it.
As my heart tears and splits,
from reaching out in spirit, to the object
of a desire.
We all know what it’s like.
To be with someone and have them truly be with us.
There is nothing better in the entire world.
And that’s what we’re really here for – isn’t it?
On relationships I truly want to quit.
But then again, quit to what?
To feeling a fleeting field of internal, eternal pain?
No thanks. I’ll think again.
I’ll try again.
Even though inside, it seems to pour like rain.
Maybe that’s from the tears I cry, as my one-sided love walks by.
Why can it not be easy – for people to love each other?
And worse, for the one we want to love us back?
What else can we do? - We do, but feel the pain….
Dandelion
Only through a shroud of
so much pain,
and the threat
of pouring tears,
could I ever try
to put this to
paper.
No words could sum up
someone so unique.
She was the hammer who
broke the rusty barriers
off my fibrillating heart.
Her lessons to me,
hurt way too much.
But, I have to thank her
deeply, for she burned off
completely,
all the fear I had,
by pointing out to me
that I was not good enough.
My efforts meant shit,
and only I was really lying
to myself in thinking I was
a somebody.
She loved like a truck driver
and a pristine queen all in
the same movement.
In just a micro twist of
her frame, she could set off a
shockwave of emotions inside
my soul, like blowing the
pollen of her essence, all
throughout my existence.
Was it Love?
Shit, what is that anymore?
No.
Love is way too small of a caliber
to take a shot at how I felt.
She was the embodiment of
my soul. My whole life and
everything I strived for, rest
in the knowing of how much
I wanted her validations.
And so, I reached out to posses
her –
She showed me, just how
short my arms really were.
She challenged me in bed.
Matched me stroke for stroke,
and then told me that I was a
joke.
She was so incredibly sexy,
I would feel sick just looking
at her, and then knowing,
that with her, my time was
microscopically short.
And, when she was gone, the
specters had a field day, kicking
me in the groin and cackling inside
the hallows of my rot-eaten soul.
A story of two monks –
One Elder, who reached out to
help a woman who had fallen,
knowing that monks are strictly
forbidden to touch women –
Was questioned, by the other
monk, when asked much later –
by the junior:
“Master ? Why did you touch her ?”
The outcome of this story,
quite matches my own -
And the Elder monk said,
“I carried her for but a little while,
while you, are still carrying her.”
Dandelion never carried me –
She told me once, she loved me.
Told me, that one day, I would
meet her children.
But, I carry her, still.
Obviously, in my mind,
in my emotions,
in my glass shattered love
and the pain in my gut.
Her beauty is ingrained
and woven into the fibers
of my desire,
so deeply branded is her
memories,
now as thin as smoke.
I was more than in love with her.
And that’s never a good sign.
Steel - is heated, into a
liquid, before it is skimmed
and trimmed, and treated,
and then beaten into a
useful and purposeful shape.
All these things had to happened.
Dandelion opened the door
for me to engage in my new war
of seeing myself,
carving my path,
and throwing my new found fate
into the unforgiving winds.
Aftermath
· I walked away from a dream
· The Wings of Goodbye
· Vapors of Lace
· The sun set on the candle flame
· Breeze
· Vain
· The Whites of Her Eyes …
· Big Fat Lie
· Story
· And then, one day …
· When I sleep, I dream …
· Sayonara Sonnet
· Epilogue
I walked away from a dream
When I made enough, to buy the stuff,
the stuff from which I dreamed;
I held it all and had a ball,
unsatisfactory though it seemed.
And my mind grew angry,
my heart grew weary,
my lungs air could not fill,
My eyes were teary,
my nerves were shattered,
and I felt I lost my will.
When I beheld her,
and then I touched her,
a miracle rushed through my palms.
Her eyes like money,
her stature so stunning,
and perfection to quite no wrong.
She was my dream.
She was everything to me,
all that I grew up reaching to possess.
She was more than beauty,
more than savory and
and in my mind, a Princess.
But dreams are fake.
Dreams come at night,
not during the day.
So when I reached to her,
through her my hand grew,
and when she spoke, my
ears tuned to the sounds
of nothingness.
Pantomime – in the darkness
of my visions, and things that
I wish for, but have no purchase
with God who holds everything
I want, but allows nothing to slip.
I w
as empty, as she reached for me,
and her hand passed through my
breast.
I felt dead and helpless.
Paralyzed, as I realized,
my dream with her, would never
be and was just a gut wrenching
empty moment of time.
Waking up cold, and alone, in
a pool of sweat,
I walked away
from another dream of lies,
and cries
and whys.
The Wings of Goodbye.
Upon the wings of goodbye.
The air rushes to bring a tear to my eye,
But I will hold down my cries,
In respect for you.
A non-existent breeze, created by their flow,
Brings a sorrow only my heart would know.
For on the wings of goodbye,
is where my feelings fly.