| Poems: 160517 - May 16th, 2017 |
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| Robert Morpheal (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2017/05/17 20:52 |
160517A
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A heart beat away,
beating away,
a shoreline and a sky
beating away,
a steady erosion of days.
Punishments of that sort
sometimes have no actual ending
that one gets to know anything about.
A part of the sentence is dreaming
of one or another type of release
that then never actually happens.
I want to go back
to whenever the time was
before it was all destroyed.
Back before the ruining
of that sense of wonder
that I struggle to describe.
Thicker than water now,
and pushed through canals
feeling as far away as Mars,
it is something in the blood
to go further than far.
Realizing that it all matters
to no one other than me.
You were a dream
someone awakened me from
relegating me to nothing special.
I feel as processed as the stains
that make up a triplicate document,
distributed and rubber stamped.
The sort of voice that got silenced
as to any claiming of choice
that would have made any difference.
These are cruel times,
when everyone is being saved
from anyone,
for the capital crime of wanting,
something other than too late.
The reply that I gave
to your private transmission
was the wrong answer to send.
It was only a way to lose you
in an inevitably fatal mistake.
I would have lost you anyway,
no matter what I did
or if I restrained that tendency.
You were merely another mirage
shimmering in the desert heat,
of my midnight delirium.
I was expected to disregard it all
and to keep as far away
as from bones at a watering hole.
My ancestors knew that
and clamoured at me
to pay attention, as they often do.
Part of me wanted to escape them all,
by disregarding the portents and omens
of all the various sorts of warnings.
As if I could make you into something
that pushes all of that aside
to provide a lasting illusion of freedom.
It hardly matters anymore
which name goes in the blank
as to remnant formalities,
consuming with an excess
of common concerns.
A life can be wiped away
as readily as tears from eyes,
and then one fills the time
with all the same things
as in every after and before.
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160517B
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Not much difference
between lingering on a ledge
and waiting for a dream.
The fear inside is the same
as to that little push
that might come from a shadow.
Circumstances change
into being fickle as the weather,
but never to favourable.
The navigational charts replaced
by a sea of rumours
you can search that way forever.
Make no claims
as to anything of any significance
so as to avoid censorship.
You are afraid to be caught
trying to slide past the mainstream,
into other forms of anonymity.
The best way to become invisible
is to wear something strange,
even if it is your own face.
Most things only happen once,
if they tickle any fancy,
recurring only if they entail tragedy.
We watch for various patterns,
trying to sew the pieces together
into something recognizable.
If I really want it to come together
then I can be certain that it won't
be anything that I wanted it to be.
So there is no point in my trying,
despite going through the motions,
as if it makes any real difference.
It always ends up unpleasant,
as to whatever appeals to my tastes
proving to be what is unavailable.
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160517C
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It is worse when you are denied
your choice of pain,
in addition to losing at liberty.
As if the one is the same as the other,
and in the end it is all arbitrary
as to what fills in the space.
In the process of descent,
each step moves further away
from romantic imagination,
to more hardcore realities
that fail to stop the plunge
with anything to hold onto.
Comparable to emotional free fall
gone numb in the plummet
finding nowhere to land.
Realizing there are no lifelines,
and no one is actually roped to you,
as you are repeatedly cut loose.
A conversation always ends
somewhere mid sentence or paragraph,
leaving the mystery of intervention.
No consummation and no pact,
within the context of any arrangement
being inevitably terminated.
You have fallen from everyone's list,
as they wipe their lives of any trace
of anything you wanted from them.
Whatever you had become infected with
was not what they suffered from,
in their wanting of a different beast.
That was no way to find beauty,
among the boredom and the horror
of what is commonly customary.
There everything is a bear trap
snapping a limb in its steel jaws
while they laugh at the outcome.
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