To know peace

Your kiss surrounds, envelops and overwhelms me.  Like a drink of cool water in deserted climes, you bring me to life.  As oxygen to a mountain hermit – I have lived so long without you, but now you awaken my body, breathe fresh strength and new wisdom to my limbs and my mind.  I look upon you and I am reborn.  I look upon you and I know beauty in its true form.  No platonic fancy, this, but love.  Of a depth to drown out all the world, and with time, a gravity to outlast the stars themselves, returning over and again to itself, refreshed, renewed, remade in its own image, and I fall – twisting and turning, over and over, toppling, spiralling – I fall in kaleidoscopic dreams and I know peace.

Nauseous with nostalgia

Why on earth is it that even years after the event, I still cannot let you go?  Your lopsided smile and ugly, grinning, gurning face plague me from hour to hour.  I cannot sit in a room without smiling at some returning memory, and as warmth returns to my frozen heart, I take stock.  Weighing all of my options carefully, I balance from foot to foot, leaning this way, then that.  I am a pendulum, wavering, uncertain whether or whither to swing.  I am a clock, stopped still the day you left me, and only now beginning to find my rhythm once more.  As the shallow tick-tock of life creeps up my spine and tickles my veins into action, so the thaw begins.  I must be wary, lest my wintry organs melt to a spring flood of love, and I, swept along by my own strong current, am drowned by it.  Suffocated, helpless.  A fisher, tangled and caught in my own nets and snared by traps of my own devising, struggling to break free.  Wary indeed.  As my love for you had become a mantra – words of comfort to be spoken before sleep and upon waking; My ‘I love you’s with their reedy echo in the damp morning air, somehow growing to a rope with which to hang myself – and swing I did, groaning in pain and tormenting myself minutely with your voice, your face, your scorn, derision, pity.  Tearing myself down, piece by piece, until I had ceased to be.  Where once I stood, proud and strong, shining brightly for all to see – lay a stone.  My rougher edges smoothed to a bland pebble.  My glittering core dulled by your swell and smashed on rocks of my own choosing.  Broken and without pattern, without hope of re-making, mending, rebirth.  I lie here, and I am troubled.  That I still harbour feelings for you does not pain me or even shame me to action.  Nothing I could do to myself or to others could change that fact.  That these feelings grow stronger despite our mutual distance frightens and excites me.  I thought I had no more tears, and now I often don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I can feel again.  What I thought had to have gone forever has returned to me.  Now I find myself at a crossroads with a choice.  Do I go onward?  Or do I turn back?

The dangers of depression

Misery breeds company,
So don’t you wear a frown!
Before you know what’s hit you:
Fore-head-lines all over town.
A fashion will be started
And will catch the world alight –
Then anarchy will reign supreme
As sobbing fills the night.

A breathing space while waiting

I take a breath, to clear my head
My stomach sings a hungry tune
My eyes are tired, my legs like lead
Freezing here beneath the moon.
I wish I could awake my mind
Some beauty I should love to find,
But closed-up shops
And ticking clocks
Are all the night will offer me.

A dismissal

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Why then do I find you so ugly?
And how is it that
I resent holding you close?
You are not part of me.
You are no reminder of love.
You have brought me nothing but hate.
I feel the burden of you –
I cannot carry you,
You weigh me down!
Leave me.

Scenery

Treetops in the sunlight, rushing by the window, bearing their burdens proudly, majestically, regally. No meek shall inherit the earth, but long after we are but dust, the trees and plants will march ever onward, holding their standards high, gaily waving green-clad boughs in the cool of the evening, and rustling to give their best to the breeze and receive the whisper of news in return.

On knowing one’s limits

It takes a certain type of gent
To know exactly when he’s spent.
A gentilhomme to bow away
From what he’ll not achieve today.
And yet, these men are viewed as weak!
Those with courage ‘nough to speak
When they have found their limit reach’d
Rather than endanger each
Unruffled colleage, they withdraw –
Gallantly – with honour – more!
And wait until they’ve quite recouped
What strength they’d spent to serve their group.
Thus sensible, they fly away
To live to fight another day.