He stood at the foot of the mountain
with his hands in his pockets
and his heart in his head.
Looking at the summit
He questioningly said:
I wonder if I am totally in love
with love instead
of being in love with you?
This is a problem,
and immediately fell to the floor
and desperately sighed.
(For she was no more alive
in his blinkered eyes).
You can latch your love onto
of a million and one
It makes no difference
in the overall
scheme of things;
For all roads take us to home –
that sacred outpost of serendipity
which is way beyond the self
and every magic thing which can be conjured
in the galaxy of greed [take heed].
I can say this with confidence
for I have been there –
strutting on the rugged path
which takes you to land’s end
along clifftops and outcrops
excrescences and backdrops
designed to drain
the last drop of broken blood
from even the most hardened
I have cut off my love
Like sailors stem the strident tide
(I did it only to survive)
Pushed all the crazy paving way outside
That I no longer have to walk beside you
I have strapped up my arms
A jacket strait from padded cells
All wrapped up in my little shell
I hug myself in vain [my private hell]
That I no more can throw myself around you
There’s something about April - the way she wears her clothes: loosely fit. One button more and September is exposed. The veil removed, her flesh reveals December’s naked trees; Springtime lurks behind the bark and drags me to my knees. Continue reading...
I had something to say on the train the other day when she sat with splendid beauty in my eyes [but she’ll never read these words so they’re really safe to say]. Now they’re out there in the ether in the splendour of display [how easy in our hindsight to be wise]
Celibate solitude. It’s the only way. Splendid ice-olation. (I won’t go astray) here in my cave with a pen in my hand. For ages I’ve lived like a crab in the sand. Hermit-hearted. Eagle-eyed. Misunderstood. Hurts inside. At least no one listens each time I cry…