Never what you were,
my retina dulled your rays.
Optics adrift in poetry, prose,
charity shop sweaters.
I spoke of dreamed ambition.
You nodded, morose.
Eyes chasing space.
Never what you were.
Bookshelves, potted plants, a bicycle bell ringing.
Coffee steam clawing New Zealand winds.
This and more flickered in our hazed tethering,
only snuffed when the tap of illusion ran cold.
would do, perhaps,
more than words,
or a plaintive air
from a yellow guitar;
a wine-dark wind
spraying last summer's
Ah! Your absence!
Your white, distant,
© LazharBouazzi, December 7, 2016
The empty sky burns bright blue
and I walked away from you
The cold earth is silent and lost
Covered in snow and frost
Vultures pick clean the still yellow bone
A fresh **** of the sand and stone
No loving hands will hold golden truth
Drunk on sweet nectar of wasted youth
The mountain speaks, slow and steady
Of rivers and dreams, rushing and heady
How can you breathe to something you don't know?
I guess love takes absence to finally grow
Flowers that bloom blood red and sharp
Oh love me, love me, take my heart
Dressed up and waiting for insignificance
My head and my heart; a common dissonance
Swollen clouds of passion
once crashed* across my face
and Fires flared from friction
everywhere your lips did trace
our Chilly fingers sought their shelter
deep in the spaces inbetween
But these spaces, now so spacious
have wicked the warmth from what I mean
the only audience to your absence,
unable to exist
For you stole from me my *reason;
the anticipation of your kiss.
My body remembers
Cornered like a rat in a cage,
unable to vent my mental rage,
trembling on the brink of doom,
I stand submissive in my gloom.
I blink my eyes to hide the tears
and smile a smile to hide my fears.
I ***** my way through daily chores
and long to be behind closed doors.
I focus on my paperwork
to chase away the thoughts that lurk.
The answers to questions are slow to arrive,
the curse of not knowing makes it hard to survive.
This stifling suppression creates a knot of suspense,
paralyzing my mind and makes muscles tense.
The mushroom cloud rises
the dread day is near,
my depression consumes me,
I'm no longer here!
just as when looking into the sun
i am dazzled by pure light
which is invisible
and i only see what is lit
by the paler reflections of its rays
or when my mind refusing to hear a perfect silence
creates its own thundering echo
of that silence
so that i may more nearly understand
your absence also is absolute
and leaves a void in me
i cannot come to terms with
until it is filled
by a memory
They called me a humanist in my day -
It was the drink that made me argue so
Yet perhaps I was more sober than they
My logics at least were never shallow
A debt I owe to blind philosophy -
Long afternoons with Leo in his rooms
You may call it if you like my waking.
In those days Exeter was bright and bold -
Greeks and Persians, such emperors and clowns.
Roman baths were found in Cathedral Close -
Revealed, recorded, tucked back underground.
We smoked, we drank, we tried each other twice
Fighting the fight, the politics of ***
Though still I wondered what was coming next.
An absence of talents was my unease
A sense that I and others should have doubts
What rights we had to laze beneath the trees
Because we came from parents who had clout.
For Leo Lee it was a simple thing -
The world exists that men might make it so.
Foul! I would shout and he would say, “I know…
“I know, I know,” and puff upon his pipe
Until and for perhaps the hundredth time
He’d nail me with the words of Wittgenstein –
“The world is everything that is the case –
Our aim in Philosophy should be
That we lead the fly out of the bottle.”
An absence of talents is still my curse -
Leo, Poetry and Aristotle.
I miss him most when he is here, when he is close enough I could reach out and touch him. But only in places that are becoming routine. I reminisce back to a time when he would handle me like glass, when he'd run his fingers though my unwashed hair while I pretended to sleep.
Our first embrace.
When we kissed on the end of my bed, his skin slippery with angst.
My clothes wrinkled, synched tight around my waist getting caught between myself and the covers.
We were two brand new tension filled lovers.
The sense of
The sense of
Your negligible presence makes me miss you when you are absent.
Your significant absence makes me missing you more when you are present..
my story of
survival for people
who are suffering victims.
"I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest."
A Dialogue of Self And Soul - W B Yeats
SCENES FROM AN EXAMINED LIFE - author Anthony J M Brady Available from tradition.de
Until it's too late to
Save ourselves from that overwhelming
Stricken by the absence of color,
and the absence of rainbows that once sung to me.
Nullified and numbed by the irrationality of my ego,
and my hatred for sanity.
These are punctured wounds by the hands of the stained glass,
as this shattered hourglass speaks gibberish to me.
I'll take all the blame,
it was all my fault anyways.
As if my world wasn't trippy enough,
the only thing standing in my way is you.
So let violence sing one last time...
Scream for me poetry.
I reach out to touch your face
but find a void.
When did you
become so distant?
my heart is wire and sinew
processing speeds and generated power
a motherboard that beats, beats, beats
you're a human, but baby,
I'm a machine
I'll keep powered until the day
my software is outdated
my ram slows down
the blue screen of death flickers
where I never reboot again
trade me in for a newer model
my feelings are connected to electricity
I've already processed my own abandonment
and have already grieved your absence
in a million different codes of binary
I remember your hands on my keys
you pushed all of my buttons
knew every function inside and out
you turned me on and kept me going
you are the spark that ran my code
but now, despite my own wishes
I'm made to keep running
I'll whirl and click and buzz and work
and for a moment, I nearly believed
that a machine could feel love