Letters to Dandelion

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.