Is this Love?

I wonder sometimes when that feeling kicks in, the one where you’re about to go over the falls, if that’s just some illusion that your mind is tricking you with. Walking you down a path well trodden. Guiding you to some ecstatic mirage where you’ve missed the true oasis by miles but, that’s okay you’re drinking sand right where you belong.

Recently, I’ve been wondering if I’ve fallen in love with myself all those times. I wonder if what I saw in those eyes was just a reflection of the love I gave so willingly. This isn’t me being sad but, I’ve said I love you so many times I’ve probably lost count. Penned poems of heart songs and heartbreak. I’ve been getting better at relationships. I just don’t always know if I’ve been giving my heart to the right people.

And as I stand on the precipice of something new I have to ask myself is this all real again or am I doing this to myself if nothing else was right for me how could this be it? Is this how it’s supposed to be? Do we fall for self-idealized versions of others only to decide to stay or go when the sheet gets removed and we see that person in the garish light of day? If all of that is true, when do we learn to see that person for who they are at the begining and maybe not so late in.

The Hubris of Desire

A vision that blots out the rarest pigment sunsets

Or mountain landscapes

Is there truly beauty in those things,

When apparitions of divinity walk along the Earth on two legs?

Does the moon but reflect the sun?

While their intellect out shines the rise of Helios.

There’s beauty in many found things

but perhaps in a muse that finds itself.

Can vibrant, Autumn leaves

or soft, downy snow

string words together that compel

writers desire to tear their hearts out in envy?

Will a zephyr or the avian song

bring chills with notes stagnate over millions of years

or the symphony composed

from a compassionate soul

who ne’er take life’s pleasures for granted.

Is it hubris to compare one

to both earthly and celestial wonders

maybe so

but I am ever so confident that I know the right of it.

For what could be held in such regard

But the vastness of beauty in a mortal vessel.

Downfall of Serenity

What is a stage but a pedestal

They belong to life

To freedom

An actor to the stage

And I just want to play the part that’s belongs to me

I want to surround them

To pull them into me and never let go.

That would satisfy only for a moment

A split second of selfish desire

It’d bring the whole thing down around me

Isolation and freedom in ruination

That I could have just one piece of them.

What would I do just to know.

Just to understand.

Just to know their name.


Clippings of Conversation

I still remember your “Hey”s and sighs
I recite your dreams
Sing your tears
Can’t forget your heartbeat
And cadence
But I only hear clippings of conversations

I remember my rage
My angst
Your sweet toxin
Our Warmth
Hours of my life swallowed up in perfect lips
Only loose thoughts reach out

I remember pain and loss
Moving forward
Death
Mass annihilation
Bounding betrayals
But I only have clippings of conversations

Our time blurred
I am not the same man
But I wonder would you love me
Would your kisses taste the same
Even with just clippings
I have more than you

Is or Was

I have given much thought to the idea that people who leave us, don’t always leave us. Maybe we think about them less; Or morn the people they’d become. But, we don’t forget the things they loved, the ideas they had. We even keep their saved games. So is was, right?

Like green was his favorite color or her smile was as bright as the sun. I want to choose is. I don’t know if that would still be true. If they were still alive maybe they’d be sick of the things they used to love. But, I want to say Green is his favorite color and He has a soft spot for monkey. She was first person to say she liked my hair long and she taught me so many things with a smile that was so filled with the joie de vivre.

All I’m saying is sometimes it feels better to say is instead of was and I’m giving you the power to choose. I’m not super spiritual myself but, think they things they showed us and taught us aren’t gone so maybe that means they aren’t either. I find comfort in being a web of expeirences touched by others. Our lives are passion projects and those people who touch our lives are the florishing sheet that goes over our grand design.

Live well, readers. Maybe meditate on this for a bit. Tell me about your choice: Is or Was and give me a like or check out some of the other things I’ve written.

Despiration vol. 1

Where do you put your work in

Where does your heart go

I just want to hear you say something

Maybe this is what I was missing before

I wanna hear more than I love you

more than I want you

Do you really know me

or just the parts I show you

please just see me

I’m right here in front of you

You Remind Me of the Rain

Summer Showers and Fall Downpours

Hurricanes, Tempests, and Late Night Rhythms

You Remind Me of the Rain.

Fresh Chilled Lips and Love Soaked Clothes

Unexpected with a Lightly Kissed Nose

You Remind Me of the Rain.

Show My World in a Brand New Light

Shuffling People Indoors, Under Coats and Covers

You Remind Me of the Rain

Tea in Hand and Windy Hips Swaying

Words Seeping Out A Wide Brim Smile and Babbling Giggles

You Remind Me of the Rain

Hands Over Head Cheering

Relief in a Deserted Dream Fearing

You Remind Me of the Rain

Bleak Repose and Warring Tumult

Tropical Storm Sinking, Inner Thoughts Streaking

You Remind Me of the Rain

In Your Many Forms

And Everything that Comes with Them

You Remind of the Rain.

The Act of Loving

When the act of loving is missing,

you can really feel it.

It’s sweet words and squishy feelings

Without thick walls and drawn curtains

Its sex without foreplay

Or pulling teeth to get the

one thing you thought you’d both like to do… done.

It’s loneliness

Giving more of yourself then you can stand

It’s “What do you want me to do?!”

Yelled out while someone just

wants to you to hold them

It’s not being able to share your day

Your month

Your year

Your life

It’s walking around on egg shells

because if you put into words

the things that are really wrong

you’ll break things

and that might break you.

It’s the threat of leaving

Hanging over and spoken out loud

Drilling into your insecurities

But you know what you need.

So leave

Go and get it.

Passenger

The car waits at the intersection way too long

The rhythm of the blinker keeps tick tick ticking

I come to a stop on yellow

And drive just a little too slow

But, it’s all to make the drive go smoothe

Check the mirrors a bit more than is expressly necessary

Don’t honk when that red truck cuts me off

Terrified by the swerving semi

White knuckles on big black hands

But it’s all to make the drive go smoothe

Glancing at you out of the corner of my eye

While streetlights paint your sleeping face

Not even singing when my song comes on

Filling my heart as each mile passes

Whispered “I love you”s under my breath

But it’s all I can do to make the drive go smoothe smoothe.

Spark

I feel at times like a dark room

Full of possibility, promise, and a hint of threat

A match struck

and revealed in me something

I wasn’t aware I needed.

The red light seared my weakened eyes

And then I beheld it.

 

Dimension, volume, and purpose

And when it left

I’m left with more woe than was ever known before

As if light itself was always meant to be…

Fleeting.

 

With just one flash it solidified my walls

threw away nebulosity

and because of that,

I feel,

I can’t return to the void again.

 

Should I wait

Hold my breath and suffer

or am I subsisting on nothing more than a blank promise?

And if were to come another time

instead of merely beholding it’s quenching glow

I will find my own light switch

and shine the light that was always meant to be mine.