What’s it called?
When you’ve seen it all happen before
The same old, same old
Just another way
The same lull
The same soft excitement in the further reaches of your mind
The cautious half imagined breath of relief
Disappointing.every.single.goddamn.time
And if possible!
Even more disappointing than it was before.
What’s it called when you still think maybe… Just maybe not this time.
What’s it called?
Ahh yes…stupidity.
For Your Eyes Only
But there isn’t much to see
For Your Eyes Only
what is not hidden remains to be seen
For Your Eyes Only
words that whisper louder than they should
For Your Eyes Only
empty spaces lie hungrily between the lines
waiting to be puzzled at
to be spied
For Your Eyes Only
whatever is not written
has been repressed
For Your Eyes Only
let them wander over e’re
let them wonder the air
heady with discovery
eyes wide with insight
or only a mind’s misfit thoughts
I can hear myself
Convincing you
Convincing me
My earnestness strains
To be heard
To be accepted
To quiet my mind of doubts
To quiet your tongue of questions
I repeat myself
Tasting the words
Chewing them over
Letting them spill forth
Emphatically
Letting the pauses
Speak of surety
Letting my gestures spell out confidence
Waiting out your nods
Searching your smiles
For satisfaction or smirks
Weighing all the segues
And praying for a tangent
A providential interjection
Be my confidence
when the tide ebbs
speak through my anxiety
and remind me it will return again
maybe softly lapping at the shore
maybe thunderously crashing on the rocks
maybe only wanting to…meaning to…but just not getting the chance
maybe just trusting that i am its steady beacon and not some wayward flotsam
but assure me through the fluster
that the tide will return
however many times it may ebb
his skin is his fatigue
no need for woven camouflage
the jungles as quaint and known
as a well worn living room
its secret ways deftly etched upon his unsleeping eyes
leader, rebel, ordained ruler
hero, deity, thief
rescuer, reaper, ruthless
wounded yet does not bleed
so many lay shielding him
of their own or owned will
unblinkingly i stare
awaiting
something urging me to keep looking
there….
stealthily skulking off between the overgrown rushes…the unyielding reeds
so say the flickering shadows at the corner of my eyes
but
somehow unfitting
he lies too-still
all grossly revealing
that he is mortal in death.
and so i know now
but before
i could only accumulate
reasons that were true before
and though they were not given by you
they spoke for you in your absence
until your words came to my heed
until your voice came like a soothing balm
of what you thought was true
of what you hoped i knew
but what i dared not believe
until it came from you
without being told
there awaits
a curiosity
sought
and often
beguilingly bought
in the very
palm of your
hand
held tremblingly
of bridges and roads
and paths engraved
of grooved hills and narrowly lined valleys
of promises and preening predictions
and lengths that improve longevity
but what use of this fortune without the digits
to grasp it?
there is a yearnful parting
that never came to be
we search for it without notice
whether or not an illusion
never knowing if each met
will ever be the ONE
as understudys eager to be betrayed as us.
two strangers never encountered
convinced they will know:
innately, irrevocably
and as they contemplate thus
seemingly guaranteed in deed
each pass the other
remaining one less unknown.
Dear Destiny,
thou art but a mistress,
mover of a mere mortal will,
that yet shapes all that you usurp.
let it be..
it is not fate.
i find it not in the stars.
it is only
your reason that
rules over a life.
it struggles still..
towards the Light…
that does not exist.
intotheindigo 