I cannot fathom numbers…. the larger they are the more meaningless is my scope of their enormity…. and yet each and every one is not a number…. it’s a being that once existed as unique and as precious as hopefully loved as they crowd bewildered in what awaits after…
Survival of the fittest you smirk. Unmasking, untameable, a rebel without a valid thought you are, and there’s more of you thinking of only you..
And how cruel is existence that you flouting restrictions, scoffing at science, saunter asymptomatic and wreck havoc on others who love you and will suffer and die for it.
And here you are my darling with all your unabashed love, your yearnings, your affirmations, your wit and chuckles, your passion and your patience, your wary steps and heartfelt leaps, you frame all my days and seep into my dreams, you win my heart over and over inspiring me to give once again without fear.
This is not what I meant by coming all together… it has only caused us distance all around and within, a stealing of life, a theft of time, a struggle of sanity, a daily encounter with fear, anxiety rules all Supreme and we wait… as we fear there’s is no ending… but that this is a beginning that we never wanted..
You didn’t listen.
She feels justified in her punishments, the starvation hears no yearnings.
You didn’t abide.
You scoffed, ignoring her steadily aimed words… her stunted pleas for obedience.
And now she suffers you in cruel silence… you don’t exist, she cannot stand to acknowledge you.
You are selfish and stupid and stubborn and useless and worthless…
And yet you have only gone your own way… you live life within confines but you live because you need to do it this way.
I see it in your eyes
And my adoration is no secret
Yet we wait
Are we afraid?
Or are we waiting until it’s stronger?
That feeling we’ve come to adorn with hearts and in modernity do not confuse with desire. For desire has its own needs however fleeting. And that feeling has lost its permanence… we know it can change, it can grow or it can fade and stop and fool. Its power though still lies in the expectations of its declaration. I know the grounding of those words that i naiively believed could not be uttered unless felt.
I know not nor maybe never will the time, the essence, that overwhelming thirst to share that feeling aloud. I do not know if I fear the silent reply or the words that will echo mine…. what if I simply change my mind once I say it out loud?
I know her and sense all the reasons why she wants to wander… her frustrations, her isolation, her stifled soul and the deafening inner voices that torment her upon the minute silence.
But also maybe because she’s so afar and I soften at her distant actions…I sleep fitfully knowing she’s perhaps very contagious and nonetheless it seems fair to her that infected her must carry it to others when only conscience lies meekly in her path.
Why are those who claim sensitivity
Unaware of their own thorny barbs?
Mere paper cuts and pen knife slips
Nevertheless i bleed internally.
Spring’s feathered herald
pecks furtively at the frozen’d ground
urging worms far nestled below
who refuse to venture out
and greet the bitter rain.
His red-dulled breast
with water disguised as ice.
She found last night
among the howling winds
that her chickling
had become an egg once more
curled into a downy, frail ball
yet no more warm
now more silent than ever.
Two quivering robins
huddle over their branch-bare nest
their warbles lost in the pelting hail
not a peep escapes from their hatchlings