I cannot tell you
The remedy to your emptiness,
But I can share with you
That of a treatment of mine.
It can be hearing of progress
On any front
In the forms of beautiful ideas
And new expressions,
The world of us humans.
Of newfound love
In many kinds of companionship
Whether by person or by animal,
Or even by plant.
Of new discovery
Which betters our understanding
About the fundamentals of the universe,
Like walking in the wild;
Cherishing all that is natural.

Being a humble observer
In the courts of law
Under honorable nature.

Just by being an animal.

When I am dead, and doctors know not why,
And my friends’ curiosity
Will have me cut up to survey each part,—
When they shall find your picture in my heart,
You think a sudden damp of love
Will through all their senses move,
And work on them as me, and so prefer
Your ****** to the name of massacre.

Poor victories! But if you dare be brave,
And pleasure in your conquest have,
First **** th’ enormous giant, your Disdain,
And let th’ enchantress Honour next be slain,
And like a Goth and Vandal rise,
Deface records and histories
Of your own arts and triumphs over men,
And, without such advantage, **** me then.

For I could muster up as well as you
My giants, and my witches too,
Which are vast Constancy and Secretness;
But these I neither look for nor profess.
**** me as woman, let me die
As a mere man; do you but try
Your passive valour, and you shall find then,
Naked you have odds enough of any man.

She said,
"I'm looking for someone,
Looking for something."
I asked,
"What is it?"
She replied,
"I can't exactly remember."
I questioned,
"How will you know you've found it?"
She said,
"It's something one can't forget,
Someone never forgotten."
I asked further,
"Well, who is it?"
She said,
"I don't really know,
But I think I've seen them before.
There's an image in my head
And an idea in my mind,
They feel innate to me."
"Are they, though?"
She didn't answer,
"I think if I just do
As my parents have done
And their parents have done,
I'll be all the closer."
I just shook my head and laughed.
"Sorry, I'm not laughing at you.
I just find it funny.
You say you're searching
For something or someone,
And you only have the slightest idea
Of what that is."
"I know, it's a bit silly."
"Why, they could be
Talking to you right now
And you would never know it then!"
"Maybe, maybe not.
I'd like to think
I would recognize it, recognize them."
"Well, you don't think
You're special do you?"
"No more so than anyone else."
"So, how would you know?"
"I guess I just believe,
I have faith in that
Hope shall deliver me.
I try my hardest
To be the best I can be,
I always try to be honest
And act respectfully.
I love with all my heart
And shelter it from nobody."

"Ah, but do you reach?
Do you search your mind
As much as the tangible world?
Perhaps what you're looking for
Can't be found
Without exploring within first.
Perhaps this is the only place
It exists.
Maybe it is a mystery
Confused with fantasy,
Maybe it is a fantasy
Confused with mystery.
Perhaps it can
Only be discovered
By any one individual.
Maybe by elusion,
Made by illusion.
Perhaps it is,
Perhaps it isn't,
Maybe you're just not worthy.
Perhaps you've already eclipsed it."
I had said.
"I'm looking for someone,
Looking for something."
I said.

"What is it?"
She said.
"It's something one can't forget,
Someone never forgotten."
I said.
"Yes, but who remembers?
And what memories?"
She said.
"It's something that can't be held,
But something one must hold.
It's something that can't be told,
But something one must tell.
It's like the melody of a song,
Like the lyrics sung.
It is only as old
As it is young."
I said.
"What is it?"
She said.

"What is it?"

For those pieces you long to see put back together again,
Be the stitching which is sewn.
Let your sleeve wear your heart,
And from that sleeve
Let there be a spool fit for knitting.
In your mind, be bereft of emotion
And kindle virtue begat of logic.
Then your words may pierce like a needle Focused,
By & on all the love you know.

I scream so silently
That the voice is loud
Enough that others might hear,
In this state like a snake
My tongue is forked
So that when I speak
I am having multiple conversations
Slithering across many fields.
Like the ocean tortoise laying eggs
Ever near the shore,
My children join me in the waters
Only after they have fully formed.
You say,
Nature is yet cruel
And shall lay claim
To many of your young.
And yet,
Is it not nature who spawned them?

When one self-medicates,
Sometimes they grab the nostrum
Rather than the cataplasm.
Trying to clean the well, they mistake belladonna for myristica.
Perhaps it was the region or the season,
Maybe the water table atop which they were building.
Were it a town,
Perhaps its citizen lacked hygiene
Or had no care to maintain things.
Maybe they sparsely talked things over
And thought little of one another.
Of the many circumstances,
It could've been the building materials
Or the architects.
The dictates we lay out
For ourselves and those around us
Rarely are truly followed
In the case of relations between each other,
And typically less so
In the case of the larger world.

The old man eats his TV dinners,
He's never learned to cook.
He believes it's a woman's job
But he never quite has the nerve to approach one.
Sure, there have been some
But far & in-between.
They don't stay long,
Bar the ones who have been there
Not to love but to take.
But he was smart enough
To cut them off
And not ache for a connection
Even if it wasn't genuine.
He has sense enough
Yet, not exactly a kind which is common.
For he finds it hard
To stand on ground equidistant.
But what is normal?

Is it such a thing as loneliness or love
Which more people take apart of?
In love there is loneliness,
Just as in loneliness there is love.
Whether it is from hearts together
Who can't stand each other,
Or from hearts seperate
Yet readily love one another.
Is it such a thing as loneliness in love
Or love in loneliness
Which more people find themselves in?
Of the equal strength it takes to stay
There is someone stronger in leaving,
Of the equal weakness it takes to wane
There is someone weaker in longing.
Yet, of the unrequited,
These are but fancy words
Which don't always flower to fruition.
And love can be won through persistence,
But to some it is akin to attrition.
The foundation of it loose & unstructured,
Rather than unbound & liberated.

Perchance, by the eye which beholds;
Some think it cowardly -
Some think it bold.
To go on loving, nonreciprocal.
To go on loving, unconditional.