what love can be

on this colour-palette of paper

let me try to paint a picture of love

to the soundtrack of drums

and the intoxication of feeling young

and knowing that the summer comes

 

they kiss beneath the stars

they don’t know who they are

but who they want to be and what they see

 

an impish smile that warms the night

a hand to hold just for a while

until that while becomes a life

and that life is lived in the pursuit of light

 

no one knows when lovers will meet

or how serendipitous or sweet

no one knows how souls collide

or what makes a groom and what makes his bride

 

we know that when two people walk the same path

when they play music

create magic and make each other laugh

 

when they commit to one another

and fit into each other

then they become believers and friends

and family and lovers

 

but love cannot be explained with words alone

it is not a parable, a story or a poem

it is not a grey-scale poet

and a pot of ink

but a choice you make on the journey home

 

love is a picture of your creation

it the hues and the tones of your elation

it is yours, it is unique

it is the soundtrack of your heartbeat

it was formed in that moment your colours collided

your future revealed in the light it provided

Be who you seek

How lost we are in these melodies

Never to be repeated

What truths we seek in the defeated

In words depleted of meaning

How weak, how weak

 

With crying voices we speak to the unopposed beats

Obstructing our philosophies

Seeking our victories

In the defeat of others

How weak, how weak

 

Be strong when you speak

The power is in speech

Reach for others only when you’ve found truth

Find your feet before you help others

be who you seek, be who you seek

Pale Blue Mornings

We sit across from one another

our wares laid bare

by our ineptitude for words

I recite poetry in my head

about your premeditated eyes

and how they look on pale blue mornings

when voices are murdered

I have tried for knowing you

you’re incapable of secrets

especially those you wish to keep

(A wish to belong)

 

We lay across from one another

our ineptitudes laid bare

while we try for secrets

I recite poetry in my head

to silence the gaps

Silence is a secret you told me once

now it belong to us

on pale blue mornings

Across spaces where we once tried to find each other

I feel our ineptitudes most distinctly

You Fought Me

You are a radical in all you do

Even in love, it is “at first sight” or not at all

You play guitar in the corners of rooms

And I ran, I ran to you

I found you in a cushioned cocoon

 

Flailing about in my lily white skin

Your skin a decaying artwork of pain

The only manifestation of your burning lungs

Too beautiful, so beautiful

I wanted to trace you with my tongue

 

I held onto your body in the street

As the waves of change came over me

There was happiness in being part of our human collective

But I could not feel nor look at you

Your blue-eyed stare reflective

 

Of what you believed

 

You fought me

You thought you could see all of me

But like others before, you weren’t looking for me

You were looking for you

And for what you believed me to be

 

In the end I still have that seed of me

And my dignity

The Knowledge of You

We have always been inevitable. Although our physical contours may not have always fit perfectly, we have come together in a mutuality of pure emotion. You have made me laugh. More than that, you have tried to make me laugh and succeeded.

I think back on first attractions and the comfort of my certainty of one day having a tiny part of you. You have always been unknown to me. You have remained unreachable even when I have held that tiny part of you in my hand. But you have never made me feel alone. That distance has been more than just an attractive quality which fed my desire, but something I have felt comfortable to keep. Even as an unreachable, you have been a certainty.

I have never suspected that what we had was possible. I never thought that it may be easier to feel because there was no need to feel at all. Freedom from obligation has given me the freedom to give to you more than I have given to anyone. In return, you loved me without loving me. You redefined a feeling, without defining it at all. You gave it greyscale and texture by never giving enough and never giving too much, but giving it all. In that, we achieved perfection.

You have always carried around an abundance of what it means to be you. You have burst from the seams of your skin. And so I have been able to burst too. You gave me the ability to be comfortable in silence because we were constantly speaking to one another without saying a word.

You have also given me the ability to walk away from the noise that we created, without feeling the pain of silence. We have never been alone to one another. We have always cared for one another excruciatingly well with a pureness which allows little need for much else.

As much as it was inevitable that we should make the loveliest noises of laughter and sex, it has been inevitable that anything else would be thunder. I have never been afraid to be all I am in abundance, when I am with you. This feeling has come from knowing that the only thing that ever mattered was the here and now.

I am glad to have discovered you again. I have discovered the security of trusting you, because you could find no reason to hurt me. When you feel too much, you will hurt your lovers out of routine. We had no routines, no promises.

I trusted myself too. You gave me the strength to do this by your simple acceptance. You never questioned the strangeness of us, you allowed what was inevitable to be so, and you never changed the story, our serendipity.

Mostly though, it has been indescribable, the relief of finally knowing what it means to know, without knowing, and to have that knowledge unchangeable, unstoppable and returned without question.

City Lights

Sometimes I feel like my life-world is in intangible mass of city lights; none of which belong to me. I look down on the industrial-scape of blinking stillness and I feel like nothing I will ever say will calm it. These words I write every day are not mine, but learned from endless books which I could never write. I have no original thoughts, no original needs. I have only atoms which shaped into something human-like, with a unique appearance; a porcelain factory replica of thoughts, dreams, desires.

The moon leered through the clouds while I gazed upon this foreign place which I will never really love. Loneliness danced at my feet on the cold, heartless stones upon which I stumbled. I am following a life-path that trips me up more than it cradles me. It has made me unlovely, small and mean and I have not said a nice thing to you in weeks. I apologise.

I think I loved once, but it may have been in another life. I held your hand by the raging fire and felt no spiritual awakening, like they had promised, but just an emptiness that no one can explain. I feel like dead leaves are strewn in my wake, many autumns in which I grew colder, fading from your smile. It may have been the grotesque insignia on the side of buildings which remind me of the stupidity of us.

These are not our thoughts, we have no original thoughts; we take these from the minds of others. A city-scape of others; millions of mindless minds, indescribable monster-angels, these fearful souls. All of us know, there is no one who would give their lives so that we can have a chance to live. I only have this life, I only know of this world; but it seems so lonely in this intangible mass of city lights; even while I am holding your hand.

An unmarked grave 13/01/2011

There was this time

A world ago

When I felt such desperation

That it leaked like rotten puke

Over the sides of the toilet

Into which my sanity fell

 

 

A massive half-digested lump

Of self-hatred

Clotting my sluggish blood

As I took the knife

And made three

Insignificant

Barely noticeable

Marks of pain

  

 

These cooling sheets

Where I grow colder

My skin flaking, cracking

And rotting off my bones

I crouched beneath your breathing

Placed my finger on that vibrant

Significant

Beating pulse

Marking life

 

From my foetal position

In the corner of your life

I burned intensely

Hardening my porcelain

Clown face

Into this ugly old thing

A mad man at my mouth

I screamed and screamed

And nothing came but

A gaping hole of

Last night’s silent dinner

 

 

You weren’t listening

To these forest secrets

Beneath these dripping canopies

The roughened bark

A brief reminder of living

Of breathing, aching, forgiving nature

The decomposing ground

Cradling, at last

My insignificant

Droplets

Of congealing blood

 

 

An unmarked grave