Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Rebecca Bates Feb 26
Standing on the shoreline of a smooth unmoving pond
Stars mirrored in deep silver, serenely desolate
Venus cupped exactly in the waxing crescent’s core
The water, black and soundless, boundless, starkly infinite
Inseparable, we watched entranced. Together on the shore.

We stepped into the cool smooth water, calmly, hand in hand
Effortlessly sliding in the soundless silver pond
And underneath that water, silent, absolutely still
Our desires were extinguished. Our aching hearts erased
In the utter quiet comfort of the water's cool embrace

... This I do remember. The rest, you know by heart
How this ever spinning world will in due time, illuminate
What the dark had hidden. The white hot stone within
The deepest core of dreaming. And all our days defined
By desire. Our hearts clamour. But we're never satisfied.

And I wonder, does it matter, in the gritty dragging days
Boredom laced from time to time by yearning, sharp and hot
Does it matter to distinguish what's illusion and what's not?
If I can summon back a single flash of that dark water
Why not **** time in trying? I'd rather love than not.

And you, of course. Unshocking, that swift flicker of surprise
The striking disappointment as precisely, midnight chimes.
And the masks are lifted. So I ask you, what’s the difference
If I’m entranced by man or mask? Illusion or existance?
Wherever pleasure’s sought is for the seeker to decide.

When my heart’s unquiet, loud with longing and desire,
Defiantly I seek you. Not vanquished, not quite yet
Tick by tick receding. But I insist on keeping this:
Inseparate underwater, serenely intertwined
A distant hint of feeling. Thus is my keen heart satisfied.
Rebecca Bates Feb 18
Matthew, Matthew, icy blond,
Dressed exactingly.
Lip curled down, distinctly bored,
Texting rapidly.

Matthew, Matthew, eloquent
Elegant, aristocratic
Malignant and malevolent,
Infectious, symptomatic.

Matthew, Matthew, I'll dispatch you
From my heart and hopes again.
Mismatched but I can’t detach you
Triple-bonded nitrogen.

Ever after? No way, never,
But Matthew, oh! What I remember.
Backbone of a sonnet, soul of a limerick?

— The End —