You speak to me without even knowing. I hear you even when your lips have not moved; I can feel you even when the distance is greater than two people should have to bear. Nothing you do, escapes me when you are at arms length, you sing to me, with each movement, with each breath; taking up a glass of water to drink, fumbling in your pocket for keys, rubbing your eyes when you are weary, scratching yourself when you have an itch and even when you have not moved at all, nonchalantly staring into space, you still speak, you still sing. Your eyes could burn deep pockets into my being they are so invasive, so commanding, that when they are open, I dear not speak for fear I may interrupt all that they must say. You hold the world’s truth in all things that you do. You are palpably unaware but I notice these things I appreciate what you have shown. And I cannot pretend that I understand all that you have said, all that is left to be known, I merely see and hear, without the ability to fully grasp the concept, to fully understand the depth that is you.
Friday, February 29, 2008
What Do I Know of You?
What do I know of you?
What do I know of myself?
What do I know of anything?
I know that I am not altogether happy, not all together sad.
I know that I am waiting and hoping that something will bring forth my consummate empowerment.
I know that I am in a kind of limbo, apathetic to everything that surrounds me that bombards me daily.
I know that I have been melancholic and yet animated in my appearance.
I know that I have but one passion and yet it constantly eludes me and is kept safely at bay.
I know that I grow weary of having no real direction, no real vigour to do what must be done.
I know that I have to be strong, yet I am still very weak and it frightens me.
I know that my complacency has made me hollow.
I know that I have lost and have settled in my defeat.
I know that I have always been afraid and yet have not identified the source of my fear.
I know that I am ailing from a malady for which there is no true remedy, and it is a love made incurable by hands divine.
I know that though I try to find myself I am still stranded at the crossroads, anchored to you.
I know that you will possibly never see the light in me and yet I can see all the good in you.
I know that you may not have cared for me then and still even now, just by the very deeds of your actions.
I know that you may not think of me as I often think of you.
And yet in all the abysmal realities of my life I have not suffered so far because of this belief I have kept.
The creed I have vested upon myself that will always stand firm even in my darkest hour.
A creed to know that everything is how it must be and that ours, though at a glance, lacks the virtues of compassion is substantial in its depths and heated in its core.
And I am happy to have met you even though you will never hear these words escape my mouth.
And if it is my faith to die loveless know that I have kept ours safe, where no one else could touch it, where someday you may find, it has always been waiting, carefully sealed in the centre of my soul.
For You
Yet, despite your liaison with darkness I still see in you the light that I have always felt to be there and so you remain to me that fragile creature marred by circumstance and lack of good judgement. You do not know who you are, enveloped in the catacomb self inflicted by the very virtue of your nature. Perhaps, you may learn the truth of who you are when you are freed from your chamber just as likely as you are to be forever in darkness. And I see the sadness in your eyes, I can see the shadow lurking over you that has brought with it the burden of guilt. And I wish I could help you, set you free and salve your pain but I cannot.
However, I do not wish to be with you, there is nothing that could bring us to that path, it has been stricken from our destinies and therefore from mine own desires. And I do not know what you see when you look upon my face or dwell in the centre of my eyes but I do know that I can see your battered soul and the torment that you must now face. Perhaps, my view exaggerates your position, perhaps you are merry and want nothing more from life; so then I will want those things for you. And if you receive clarity or should we cross paths once more in another life maybe we will discover our fears and inner turmoil have far less potency than that which is ours.
Now, I await patiently the news of your betrothal; the end of your dreams and to an extent mine; for you were and are mine in fantasy alone. And if you escape I pray you will not once again make, that blunder; finding instead, that which will fulfil you.
I will remember you always and never forget this, this inexplicable force that motivates an unknown facet of myself. For everything happens when it should, we both become victims of an uncontrollable world; two that can only integrate with a larger scheme. I do not pretend that you care that I have written this, that I feel whatever this may be called, but for one minute I will pretend you do. And so in placing you in a conundrum of ambivalent words and phrases I have sealed and yet resolved all I have known of you, all that I have felt for you, all that you have come to symbolize in me.
The Waiting Bride
We were to be wed when you returned and I planned in my head how pristine and grand our ceremony would be, I selected a dress, modest, made from the richest of whites, and I knew I would be untainted when you returned I had kept myself as such since the day you left. I began sending out engraved announcements oh, how happy the townspeople were to hear of our betrothal and the date was set for the day after you returned, and that anticipation could be matched by nothing else, except the loveliness of your letters, the retelling of your journeying through the lush countryside.
And soon I no longer got your letter every Tuesday morning, they came every fortnight now, and no longer were they about your escapades in the lush countryside but now they spoke of another city, far larger and greater than ours, and the lights you said were so amazing, the streets were paved solid, and they had horseless carriages, and I was amazed that you had seen all these things, and I thought right then you would have many stories to tell our children and grandchildren, and it amused me so.
And then the letters came monthly your valour began to dim, you didn’t write much anymore, you mostly sent your salutations and regards to my family. It didn’t bother me I could sense your loneliness I knew when you returned we would be married the next day.
I received your final letter in the season of winter; you sent your salutations and the news that you would marry a beautiful dame, the one they called Jane, and it amused me so.
I haven’t spoken to you, it seems, in ages now, I remember you used to send me a letter every Tuesday morning telling me of your escapades, your journeying through the lush countryside and still I wait for the post rider wearing the dress I will be wed in, the following day after your return.
A Day like Today
It’s a cool windy day, the restaurant is filled to capacity, the waiters practically fall over each other and yet none of this bothers me I’m too engrossed in thoughts that are deafening. My host doesn’t seem to mind he’s chatting in his usual way about something insignificant, made more magnificent in his deliberation of it. I wonder when the next waiter will come by and perhaps refill my glass; a night as stale as this deserves a modest sense of inebriation.
He says something to me I am unaware so he asks again. “What do you think of this painting?” He must realize I have lost interest so of course he does what he always tries to do, cleverly start another string of boring conversation. “I think its lovely, subtle use of colours, nice texture, so you were saying that you heard from derrick how is he?” Again he continues his rant and I continue the journey through my mind. I look at him I nod; I again feel the resentment that has been gnawing at me since the appetizer. I believe however it had started way before then, possibly since the day after we made love for the third or so time, the day I realized I never loved him and I never could. I felt I was stuck in a world of grave distance and detachment with a man who I stayed with for five years because I thought it was the right thing to do. It’s funny how a child can bring two people bitterly together.
He now speaks of religion, his favourite topic. I suppose I’ll be obliged to answer yet another tiresome redundant question aimed at deepening our benign and cyclical existence. I look at the ring that glimmers on his hand, the wedding band we bought together; it had now come to represent the shackles of our preposterous union. He didn’t mind, he loved that he had me, it made him feel in control, a dominant force in a decrepit relationship. He wore it all the time. I lost mine, well pawned mine. The very next day he bought me a new one I wore it only once. Oddly around that time I developed an allergic reaction to the ring, I even had my doctor examine it. The rash that had developed was grotesque at best puss filled yet dry and flaky on the edges, though self inflicted my Doctor knew better than to disclose that secret, our relationship had become one solid, based on things I knew his wife could not find out. So he advised me to no longer wear jewellery on my left fingers. George was saddened; his consolation however was the pendant I now wear around my neck on anniversaries and other major celebrations. He sees that I have strayed yet again, how pitiful that this man that I lay with at least once a week could not realize I’ve never truly listened to him. I was resolute however to be the diplomat for our son, our precious Harold.
“Yes George, I am here”
“Oh, for a moment I thought you were off in your own little world.”
“No, never, you know your religious philosophies always make me wonder”
“So what were you thinking?”
“Nothing I can put into words, you know you are the speaker I am the listener when it comes to matters of religion, please go on its such a wonderful night and after all our dinner is yet to arrive.”
“Anyway…”
His ego; I at times wish it could change places with his organ perhaps then I would enjoy our carnal duties. Now I’m being boorish he wasn’t small, not large either. His problem was never size just his incredible inability to satisfy me. I was never insatiable still am not, however, our first few rumps in the bedroom were just about the only moments of passion we would ever share. There was never any growth or perhaps room to grow especially with a man you feel so little for. And still he insists on continuing his lecture, after all a man in his position would feel a sense of overall godliness to most average men. He is somewhat handsome. He has good features, strong shoulders deep set eyes, very masculine and prominent jaw line no signs of greys in this his fiftieth year but that was not what made him the envy of many a man. He is wealthy; he had his million dollar idea and put it into place, by the time he was in his twenties he had acquired more money than any of us could ever dream to see. And yet he really wasn’t that bright, he had a good business mind but never bright. His family hated me, well still hates me but now to a lesser extent they realize I am a good wife encouraging him to have his annual examination, ensuring that his books are in order, playing the part of hostess, making sure he is well affiliated with major charities but greatest of all that he helped the little leeches wherever possible.
I suppose having never loved him makes me callous but not loving someone doesn’t mean you can’t feel human kindness towards them. Yes, I care for George, care for him enough not to plot his death making it look like an accident, easily collecting all his insurance funds, rights to his company and anything else I could lay my hands on. A woman in her prime near thirty with a man old enough to have fathered her is apparent, at least on the surface a likely gold digger. But I am certain I am not. I never wanted to marry, he insisted after all I was pregnant with his child. Though he had three more before our Harold, there was no way he would foster an illegitimate heir. Did I mention the others were girls? In his previous marriage to a Caroline he never produced the one thing he really wanted. Once he realized through ultrasound I was carrying a son I no longer had the option to refuse. On a cold January morning we married, our son came in the enchanting promise of an
“Oh heck George, have an affair bore someone else” I entirely wish I could say that out loud but never would. I am certain he must have some other means of satisfaction after all we have never done it more than twice in one week since Harold. Though he is getting on in years he still maintains much of the same stamina he had in the earlier days, not withstanding the occasional pill. I lavish him sexually I may not enjoy it but I sure know how to pleasure him in a way not many could. For me it is an art form something to perfect but I always have to put out the effort it doesn’t come as natural with someone you find marginally attractive. However he never notices, well he never mentions it he’s always bragged that I am his best. I do believe I am.
“Claudia aren’t you hungry the food is getting cold.”
“Oh yes I am sorry must have lost track.”
“I met up with Jenkins today, he…..”
He’s unstoppable. He has an air of conceit even while eating, he was meticulous and elegantly pretentious, and his speech was in the same breath formulated from years of refinement and rubbing shoulders with the elite in society. Why it bothers me, I truly don’t know. It was his debonair attitude that first caught my attention. He was the suitor who impressed upon me the joys of wealth I became putty in his hands after a few short months. He is like no other yet I still never learnt to appreciate the qualities I first saw as unequal to anything else. Our life is a fairy tale I wanted to end. Perfect and free of anything less. This is many a woman’s dream: fine dining, handsome husband and never having to lift a finger; blindly rejecting feminist equality because you are treated better than the nine to fivers. But it was never my dream. What was my Dream? I believe it was lost in some journal I kept in my youth that I had decided to burn when I hit adulthood. So in my adult life I am adored and wanting for nothing else and saying this has never made this any easier.
“George”
“Yes, my darling” How I hate when he calls me darling, his little princess or his one and only.
“I think I’d like to go out on the terrace for air”
“By yourself are you sure?”
Suddenly we are interrupted by a couple Gloria and Edward. George’s closet and dearest friends, admittedly Edward was a man I had come to respect over the past two years. Gloria had always been rather so-so; she struck me as neither truly intolerable nor mildly impressive.
“Edward good to see you man, how’s it been I heard you were on vacation”
“Well technically I was actually away on business as it turns out several of my clients were at my hotel, you know me always ready to please the client.”
“Why don’t you take Gloria out unto the terrace with you while me and Edward talk business I’m sure you’ll enjoy the company darling.”
“That’s quiet alright why don’t we just continue dinner, all of us.”
“Claudia you’ve been bored all night I’m sure you women have enough to catch up on.”
He once again manages to display his sexist attitude to women, “all us girls love to chat and gossip”; we’d rather speak about nothing than have solitude and peace of mind. Oh dear, to switch from one bore to another is one thing but to be clandestinely forced to pretend it is something I like is another. Gloria in her light pink dress and total lack of cognizance wears her compensatory feature, her large bosom with proud stupidity. She fumbles a bit; as she nears me I smile my most hollow smile letting her know she was welcomed despite my obvious disenchantment with the proposition to entertain her. What Edward sees in her I’ll never know? He is smart, witty, beguiling, warm and honest. Perhaps my instant indifference to Gloria stemmed from my secret liking for Edward. There were opportunities but we never dared take them. He could never risk hurting such a close and honourable friendship, as I could not risk losing my child. But I had dreamt of it, wished for it. I often wondered what it would be like if George had suddenly met his end to a fatal heart attack, stroke or angry employee. Would Edward comfort me, seduce me and then bed me? Immediately I look at him and he sees the look in my eyes and realizes I am undoubtedly enraptured by his mere presence. Every passing word, glance, gesture, wise remark, made it clear that the desire to consummate what we have would continue to be that forbidden mystery that lingers in our loins as long as we could keep our yen abated. I touch my throat teasingly, roll my neck as if stretching and let my hands slide to the centre of my breasts, he keenly watches. George is gloriously unaware. I motion to the tart to follow she is obligingly insistent on following me and has no outward objection to the ordeal, no the rendezvous.
Outside is slightly nippy but it has oddly warmed with the approach of nightfall. Gloria is sitting in a chair to my right there are two lovers snuggling to my left and I think sardonically “this is what hell must be like”.
“Do you come here a lot?” She looks up at me and yelps in her irritatingly high pitched voice.
“No dear, it’s a new Bistro it opened two days ago.”
“Oh, I thought it was just well kept.”
“Well there’s a sign out front that says now open for business but then, you possibly overlooked that as well as you do everything else I’m certain.” I thought but only said. “Perhaps it’s the antique slightly rustic look that confused you it gives the place warmth, a look that’s a bit lived in”
“It’s nice.”
“Yes, it is”
“I like your dress.”
“Oh I’ve had it for years it seems I’ve worn it at least a hundred times, how is Alan.”
“My son, he’s fine.”
“No not your son Alan the waiter you twit.” A remark I am certain would have blindly been mistaken for sincerity not sarcasm. I refrain several times in our short lived conversation, being pleasant and sociable. It occurs to me that my husband is far more entertaining for he can entertain himself. I speak with
“Gloria is that you” A flamboyantly dressed, extravagantly made up female blurts out in a frenzied tone.
“
“Do you mind if I take her away your husband tells me you wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind I’ll see you all inside.”
They leave and I am thankful. I become conscious of the emptiness of the terrace and finally feel at peace. I suppose most people were likely already dinning, at the bar or at the front where all the festivities were taking place. A part of the grand opening is live entertainment and some other spectacular thing of sorts. It had all bored me, much like George and more so like Gloria. The Terrace is secluded in its construction it does not project directly from the main door overlooking the large dinning area but instead from a smaller door to the left of the kitchen. Perhaps it is meant to indulge lovers or the more antisocial of its clientele. It has three small bistro tables and two large benches a small pond and exotic plants which indubitably add to its captivating beauty. I watch the large coy nibble on the plant life surely they are trapped; swimming in circles and enlarging to an extent that diminishes the pond’s prominence. What mindless creatures they are feasting, breeding then dying. I am troubled by this close association when I am taken aback by a voice.
“You’re distant this evening.”
“Edward I thought you were with George.”
“No he has new company I told him I would come and check on you so how are you Claudia?”
“I’d say never better, but you’ll know I’m lying and you?”
“Nothing’s change so I guess ok, I’ve missed you, I’ve thought of you a lot lately.”
“Why would you.”
“Why wouldn’t
“Edward you’re such a tease.”
“I know, but it put a smile on your face.”
“I suppose you came to see if I was searching for a way over these walls and to somewhere else, you know how I joke about abandoning everything.”
“Yes, I also know you couldn’t and wouldn’t.”
“You are my confident, my friend, my only friend I believe.”
“And that will never change.”
“I know you respect him too much.”
“I respect you too much.”
“We’re back here again aren’t we?”
“Did we ever leave, we took a break maybe but this is always there.”
He touches my hand in a friendly sort of way, I try to smile in an unaffected manner but I could never lie to Edward he is too perceptive. We hug tenderly and I can feel his hardness pressed against me. We were always so well suited. His proud height now towers over me like a protective and consuming cocoon; he lifts my chin lovingly and looks directly in my eager and willing eyes. I have yet to find a love as strong as ours. For the first time we share a kiss, not our usual platonic, chaste kiss, but one with such insurmountable passion I believe our lips will fuse and have no way of parting. He moves his tongue skilfully and carefully in my fervent mouth I taste him and his are lips that exude an atypical pureness; sanctity second only to Godliness. He is rough yet smooth, strong yet gentle and I trust he will devour my very essence, my soul, with this one enduring kiss. He rips himself from me and is shocked by his own reaction we know now there is no turning back.
* * * * * * *
Why Cheat? Reasons to love the movie “Fatal Attraction”
The concept of monogamy has been within our society since the advent of morals, religion and civility. It truly is an ideal that most would hope they could eventually be satisfied with but in the end fall short of in some minor way. Then, what is cheating? Many will consider cheating as essentially having an external affair with someone other than the person to whom you have committed yourself. The greatest of commitments, marriage is expected to be life changing and of course totally monogamous. But it appears that the more advanced our society becomes the more men and to a lesser but relatively large extent women cheat. In this a western culture there is no polygamy but it appears that despite this the sanctity of marriage apparently dwindles with each passing era. Yet people continue to marry. Whether for financial gain, to avoid loneliness in old age, for love, for appearances among other things, people will always hold firm to the desire to marry.
Great, so we have the inception of happy families, good times, someone to hold our hands when we are dying and life is beautiful. However, despite the benefits of marriage there is the shocking revelation and realization of boredom. This boredom goes both ways men getting bored, women getting bored, family life becoming arduous etc. So the solution, have an affair, something that is kept light not too involved easily broken off at the first sign of trouble and everyone is happy, right? No. The truth is that many of those who cheat will say their marriage is on the rocks but will never be honest enough to say that they have failed. They have failed by no longer trying to live up to the commitment they solemnly vowed in front of god and man. Maybe this is a bit harsh. I have never been married, never truly intend to and therefore cannot say why men and women are unfaithful.
One argument (The Myth of Monogamy, www.polyrlando.org) suggests that humans are incapable of monogamy and that the advent of monogamy is merely a societal construct which coincides with lawful property rights and the legitimizing of offspring. This thinking stems from what is said to be the large numbers of married people who indulge in extramarital affairs which estimates this figure at 60% of married men and 40% of married women (the validity of these statistics is believed to be a conservative estimate with studies now suggesting the figures may go well beyond this because of outdated estimates still presently used from the late 80’s to early 90’s). Thus the argument surmises that monogamy should be abandoned for the failure it no doubt instils in the men and women who are ineffectual at committed relationships.
There are also other biological findings which seek to unravel the mysteries of the almost inability of some human beings to be faithful. Thus by studying the animal kingdom findings have revealed that only a very minute number of animals are totally monogamous.
Biologists have long understood that monogamy is rare in mammals. Of about 4,000 mammalian species, only a handful have ever been called monogamous. The tiny list includes beavers and a couple of other rodents, otters, bats, certain foxes, a few hoofed mammals, and some primates -- notably gibbons and the tamarins and marmosets of the tropical New World[1]
So the animals are going from mate to mate, capriciously and apathetically where then is the justification for us the more complex and higher species? Do we not have the institution of advanced civilization, a more complex and diverse genetic make up? How then can we the greatest of mammals be compared to them, wild animals? Barash’s article points out those evolutionary factors such as the tendency for males to be larger increasing the likelihood of his success in finding mates, the earlier maturation of the female thus “holding out” until the males have matured themselves fuelling competition among themselves, the tendency for males to be aggressive and violent thus more competitive and also that before western colonialism many societies were polygamous. Hence in a nutshell his article proposes the idea that it is the male’s competitive nature that inspires him to be in constant search of the female, once he has achieved his goal he does not end his search but moves on sourcing other females. Likewise the female will move on if the male she has acquired is not a suitable enough candidate. Therefore, this indicates a fairly plausible reason for the prominence of serial dating, multiple partners and adultery in our society.
Social conservatives like to point out what they see as threats to "family values." But they don't have the slightest idea how great that real threat is, or where it comes from. Monogamy is definitely under siege, not by government, declining morals, or some vast homosexual conspiracy -- but by our own evolutionary biology. Infants have their infancy. And adults? Adultery.
However his article is not written in defence of adultery but instead seeks to enlighten the tendency towards it. The fact inevitably remains that monogamy is a choice we make; we choose to remain in one relationship as we do to gallivant with many others. However, I do not stand in judgement but simply propose that being human means being able to quell certain negative traits inherent to us in order to foster the growth and productivity of an enlightened and progressive society.
There is no question about monogamy's being natural. It isn't. But at the same time, there is no reason to conclude that adultery is unavoidable, or that it is good. "Smallpox is natural," wrote
The Biological Theorist and Pro Polygamous theorist both agree that this thing of monogamy is unnatural but of course however engaging in it becomes the choice one will make based on one’s society and needs. Thus I now seek to explore the extra marital affair making an example of the movie “Fatal Attraction”. Scenario, the man who cheated on the good and devoted wife ““The opportunity was there so we took it”. A movie which is undoubtedly a classic in its genre represents the nefarious outcome of what should have been to the star Michael Douglas a beautiful weekend of a “no strings attached” affair. However as beautiful and charming as these things generally begin, married man meets sexy wanton unmarried woman, the end result moves from benign to malignant. What is indeed unforgivable is the protagonist claims to being totally faithful and happily married but yet on a weekend away from his wife and child, he suddenly becomes fevered and heated with the need to act out his instinctive need for copulation with another mate. Therefore the writers initiate a context of perfect stability being easily interrupted for this passionate fling.
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” is the word’s befitting of this outcome. Not only does the forgotten Glen Close not completely grasp the fact that the affair was just that and no more but she also is allegedly pregnant and threatens and attempts to kill his wife but by the end is killed by Douglas. This psychotic and twisted finale is perhaps appropriate for the man who could not last a meagre weekend in what is constructed to be an ideal situation. However the marriage goes on he is forgiven and we assume that with an experience such as it were he would never delve in the hollows of infidelity. It must be noted that in developing a character who is deserving of the psychotic episodes of a delirious woman Douglas’s character must first be placed in an extremely content family setting for the affair to seem shocking. Had the writers made him the product of an okay marriage the affair would have been easily glossed over as bearable and to an extent essential. However, despite his obvious lack of loyalty and his artificial cling to his role as devotee by his intention to keep this secret form his wife, he is by the end portrayed as admirable and deserving of audience compassion while Close is written off as delusional, insane and to an extent more deserving of her demise. The man win’s sympathy the woman is defamed.
Despite the incidence of infidelity as being both a feminine and masculine trait, the fact remains that it is more acceptable for a man to go out and have affairs because society has deemed men incapable of total commitment to one person. Thus when they do it is okay but never when a female engages in said activities. We assume that the men are more inclined to need a steady stream of sex as opposed to women. However there are women who become bored because their men or husbands become complacent. A complacency formulated by our culture, one that teaches us to be passionate when in search but repressed and carefree once we have ended that search. Thus some men are less competent in bed with their wives as opposed to the women they have affairs with. But is my speculation that sex is the root of this evil correct? When the passion dies do we automatically assume that an affair must be the source of it? This could very well be misleading as some wives argue that they lavish their husbands with total and utter sexual pleasure. However each man’s reasoning will be slightly different but at its core our genetic make up and biological roots which make us carnal and natural adversaries, the eroticism, the thrill of the chase, the variety is what makes most that cheat apt to do so willingly and easily.
What do I feel?
To say that I am sad is unequivocally oversimplifying a feeling that is never lucid a state that is best described as grey, mutable, subtle yet stifled with the instability of ambiguity. I am not lost in darkness without light but I am not within light basking in the radiance generated by its illumination. I do not know where I quite likely stand yet indifference does not describe it in its entirety. And my ambivalence stems from knowing that a void exists that I cannot fill on my own, that try as I must my efforts are useless. I now see that a part of my womanhood desires more than careless affection or useless affectations. I realize now that a part of me can no longer sustain itself on superficial interactions and meaningless relationships. And needing it more does not encourage its entrance in a place so glum, and the mask worn does not better this hopeless condition.
To forfeit is an effort easily achieved and thus I return to the greyness, to an area that is filled with the heft of nothingness, the product of detachment and apathy. I am stuck here hoping to be freed.
* * * * * * * *
To Soar Over Mountains
To soar over mountains, fly over trees, kiss the sun, and frolic with the bees is blissfully unremarkable when compared to this, when compared to the joy that can be mine once more. And I step through life’s open door and I wonder how long for this I had waited. Up the stairs I climb thinking not of what awaits me but how wonderful and new this all feels. I won’t be afraid to capture all the good now, all the wonderment I have received somehow. I will never again turn my eyes to look back at the shambles that lay behind, I will move on so merrily never once cautious of time. I’m free to do it all again I’m free to no longer pretend that I want nothing else, for now I will expect nothing less.
Do you know what it is like to be pleased?
Do you know when all this will cease?
Have you ever wondered why you’re here?
Have you found an answer you can use?
How far will you get when you’re still so near?
Have you ever thought this was abuse?
Did you come to see me run away?
Why didn’t you go astray?
What kept you on this path so long?
Where is the good in all the wrong?
Questions don’t need to be answered not when I am this clear.
Not when I no longer care to fear,
All that has gone before,
All that has left me sore,
Because I am so clear, at peace,
Because I have found my retreat,
Because now I can be free.
I want to hear it the way it was written I want to feel it the way it was meant; I want to see it in all its naked glory, free of penitence. I want to hear it overtly so loud ears will go deaf; I want to see it so brightly eyes will melt. And to know how it feels without horror, without the feeling there will be some obscure terror. Once I have I will just be. I will be.
You’re more than you’ll ever know
As you lay in bed sleeping beneath me I listen to the heaving of your strong and dutiful chest, each flutter of your proud heart, each breath that escapes your supple and tempting lips enthral me and I am again wrapped in your charm, your deviant trance. You are beautifully coloured, dark and penetrating, plethoric with life. Your strong arms embrace me further still; your skin fits me completely and feels far richer than even the finest of silks.
Your body lies lazily beneath mine yet with each breath you pound within me something purely exalted something greater than life. And in this motionless state unaware of my admiration and my inner yearning you are pure, crisp, unadulterated, the promise land, that which is sought and rarely found a hidden treasure concealed in the folds of an ordinary man. And there is nothing prosaic about you, your person, your entire being you are grandiose, magnanimous in a way no one else shall know. For I alone can see this splendour, this hidden fact, no one understands not even you that you are more than just that; that which you wear on your self each day, that which they see for they are all so frail.
Every bit of you is perfect in its own flawed and delicate way; no truer thing exists between two people, especially when one has so much more to say. And you don’t have to emote anything you need not make words of what we share for you cannot understand it you have no means to be quite this clear. And you are home even if for less than a day, you are everything; you are the embers of a valiant display. And you have perpetrated no crime you have done nothing wrong when we are together all the wrong seems right, all the grievances seem so aimlessly trite.
We need share nothing further, a notion I little adore, but when all things are measured can there really be more? Can someone else give me the pleasures you have bestowed upon me? Can I again enter in this rapture and repeat what I now feel? For with you always something wonderful awaits, with you there is no need to be fearful, no need to escape.
If Today Will Bring The Dawn Of My Departure
If today will bring the dawn of my departure, upon my last breath I will breathe the words “I Know You” and you will be here with me and I will not be afraid because now I know what I have always wanted to know. And this knowledge did not come from any experience we shared but has always been imprinted upon my soul, it has always been and it will go with me and reside within me always. We will never part, ours will never die, no story will ever recreate what we shared, no description will describe the fallacy of our deception, and no person will place us amongst the great legends of our time. We will be nameless in history but more momentous because of this secrecy, never being diluted by the duplicity of words or the exaggerations of poets. Ours will be kept chaste by this simple act of discretion, by our own apparent indifference, by our ability to escape needing the security of an affair grounded in reality.
?
There is no title for many things that I’ll say,
Life is the one thing suitable but that too is enough said.
I ponder all I have done and realize I have done sufficiently bad,
I have seen less idiocy in people gone mad.
Yet to describe my life as such,
I truly cannot,
For I would become lesser, a little less than must.
And so I pretend ignorance, I pretend I can’t see the folly of my dalliance.
But despair sits here,
It calls for no action.
It calls for neither content nor satisfaction.
And try as I must I cannot fester the spirit that was once well.
I can only hold on to what now is left.
And that drop as eager as it may be to hope.
Can do nothing while within this vessel lies this gaping hole.