"perspired" poems
the snow swirled around
like the carousel of her dreams
unmentionable
attainable
covered in frost
dusty frost
and all she needed was a hammer
to crack open the frightening lock
but she giggled
and her friend giggled
and the snow swirled ‘round
and they found themselves buried
gone
but they could see more
for what surrounded them was
transparency
clear as beaming sunlight
sunlight that shone light on their cheeks
and snow that filled their throats
with pain
under a lactating sunset
and the snow and the snow and the snow
which grew
which perspired
which hardened
which schemed
which never
ever
melted
so that deer tongues--
those sweet animals--
were the only products of fruitless searches
that locked the friends
together
under the brilliance of a muzzled rainbow
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
Third Date
She talked and talked and talked,
an East Coast, cultured accent;
"So what are you anyway,
half-German? *** really?
But you look so......British, I guess..."
He stroked her knee.
She gesticulated loudly,
and talked.
"So you were at Princeton,
WOW, that's impressive."
He squeezed her knee.
"I baked cupcakes on Friday night,
my Mom's recipe.
I don't even eat cupcakes,
what's that all about?!?!
He squeezed her other knee.
She wore a mid-thigh,
black and white dress,
swirls, that sort of thing,
interesting cleavage.
He was back on the first knee.
She looked Italian
(it was 'Ristorante Acqua al Duo' after all),
Amy Winehouse eye flares,
head swaying,
resting on her palms,
swaying again.
He had his back to me.
She fingered the wine glass,
tall and generous,
devoured
the last inch,
came up for air and talked again.
He wore a blazer
and cavalry twill pants,
loafers and no socks.
She was hot,
really hot,
fanned her brow with the dessert menu
"Tiramisu was so deeeelicious".
75 degrees on the Prudential window.
He perspired,
fidgeted,
loosened his collar,
looked for the waitress.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
Each morning I lie in bed and anticipate your arrival, my awakening, our escape
To the fair ground lights outside the city, and I dream that as we peak on the Ferris wheel,
And, with stars as our witness at this paramount moment, all of Texas comes into view.
Autumnal air ruffles your hair, and I'm reaching for you like always with little gestures:
My smiles, your smirks, my laughs, and our quirks. Mingling at the summit,
A hand brushes slowly along a knee with the smooth reintroduction to an old friend.
Long fingers fumble with need, and it's just you and me distancing ourselves
From our every day studies in distraction, comforted in our mutual procrastination.
With you I catch up on my anatomy and you excitedly review me in structures and railways.
On a train homeward bound, the heat of blood rising in your cheeks and lips
Sends an electric surge to my head and heart, and nerves tingle from anticipating home.
Under your tutelage, I soon appreciate the bridge of a nose finally unstressed by glasses,
The dynamic arches of a worn out back, and the strength of pillars erected in urgency
'Til daylight exposes last night's mysteries, and we rest in our ecstasy perspired,
Both of us finally relinquished from the weight of anticipation for this weekend to arrive.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
For it was but a figurine of blue nothing majestic
in its stance until a fateful day upon its happening
of beleaguered figure with eyes that shone beyond
this vacant etching. Without a yearning it picked at
this still supple flesh and devoured the beauty within.
Coexisting motions interlaced from a form of nothingness
to an existence of beauty that birthed in form and a weave
of colour liberated from its anatomy. Once it has given into
repulsive convulsions of what had perspired it saw with
what new eyes. But where one feather lingered it needed more.
A craving of beauty even though needed through means
that weren't intentional. But elegance is an obscurity of
vain ambitions that once reflected upon is need to be kept
within the grasp of moments now corroding at these delicate
frames whisper in sight and where one fluttered now, more do.
So many feathers adorned its foliage, and seen was the beauty
that extended past its virtues that were as corrupted as its on
moral compass that was dipped in blood, you should fear a
Peacock of no foliage for it needs to be hole to see its feathers
grace the air and only the inevitable craving will fulfil this plumage.
For it see with many eyes that aren't its own but fulfil it plumage.
*"So many see nothing, but a world where beauty is constructed
from the eyes of others and even they do not truly see,*
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
Drugs, yes... I’ve tried them. Hell, I’ve almost done them all. Been up and down and round and round like a kid playing on an old playground. Drugs take you places you don’t ask to go, they teach you lessons that will force you to grow. Drugs are hard teachers, and not many pass the test. However if you do, you’ll stand out above the rest. You’ll have mental fortitude and blessings for the rest. Continue pursuing greatness and be humble till death. But Drugs let me tell you... I’ve had the best. Socially accepted but probably the worst, forced love and alcohol truly hit me where it hurts. There was a hole in my heart and **** I tried to fill it... with anything I could grab or people to fit in it. I used them and abused them like drugs... because they were. There are many things I regret, but I cannot reject, for these are the things that helped me project. I had to do wrong so that I could learn from it. I’m only human with fire like a comet. These days I prefer the best drug of them all... cartoons and snuggles, my son fills that hole. Being his father takes higher than I could ever desire. Now I see of what I’m required. To teach love instead anger, yet prepare him for danger. Pass that fire to all that desire to learn and grow from the lessons perspired. The future has been written, and to understand what’s coming, you must look behind it. The past repeats itself, unless you can change it. For the wisdom you seek you already hold, dig deep inside and look into your soul. That is where you’ll find your glitter and gold, it hides itself in talents untold. We all have them, and they’re all different... they’ll take you places you couldn’t imagine.
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 4:42 PM UTC
He sweats when he poops,
Not just any old ****
A **** of glory,
A **** of a lifetime.
The kind of **** that jacks your heart rate,
The kind of **** that makes you breathe heavy,
A **** so intense that your bowels moan,
And generate a need to remove your shirt.
The cold, yet intense sweats of this ****
Cramps in the lower abdomen, sharp and warm,
The sweet relief of tension, when that one big log comes out,
All hot and steamy.
Followed by a stream of liquidy brown,
He wonders how his body even operates,
The unholiness of what exits through,
That holiest of holes, next to the birth stump and boulders.
Pondering the consumption of two nights before,
He sits bare-assed on this porcelain mouth,
Ingesting every bit of solids, liquids and gasses,
That exit from his **** canal.
Clothes tossed onto the floor,
His ******* harden from the unpleasant draft,
Caused by the perspired glands,
That shiver from trauma and nightly air.
Nov 25, 2023
Nov 25, 2023 at 6:52 PM UTC
Vermilion spread across
her forehead, like clouds
over the dusky sky,
Love perspired,
and frantically rained,
Her Earth quietly sighed.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
We allowed the lies of our lives to expire, when we used to dance around fires, while the heat of our bodies perspired to the gods without names that we lived to be desired by, that we saw from the rocks and the trees to the birds in the sky, and even though this once bitter soul might try, to figure out the deepest questions, the ultimate, 'why?' He's left to walk alone, in a world that's let its heart die, because we gave into the greed, and negated a need, from every drop of blood that we bleed, to the words of our fathers we didn't heed, so we can beg while we plead, in the dirt, on our knees, breaking pottery, and scraping bone, the only grievance we've ever known, the gnashing of teeth, from the torture we've shown, to those less than worthy for the fortune we've claimed as our own, this destruction we left on the shoulders of our descendants, their discomfort prevalent from the weight of our pendants, that we parade around as we hear a cascade in sound, that cries from the heavens, 'We're broken, please mend us!'. But we neglected the ones who defend us, the ones who turn every trend against us, because our hearts are shallower, and we give in to the devourer, when we should have found a love, and with selflessness empower her, with our mouths, and hearts shower her, with all the grace and emotion, that could prevent a commotion, if only we could for the sake of our devotion, give up the notion that we are owed something, because we crowned ourselves queen and king, though to the table we've nothing to bring, instead with jubilation our hearts should sing, until the bells in every temple, church, and house of our gods ring.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
*It burrowed through her heart like a scared mole
sending ripples of pain straight to her soul
disbelief clogged her eyes as she watched discombobulated
by a lot of images strange and very unrelated
the air smelled of rose flower which scent didn't fit the moment
for her skin was weaved in piercing thorns of torment
her mind was a rim spinning contrary to the globe
as a dull alien sensation throbbed beneath her lobe
she could smell blood as vivid as it tested coppery
and her sky blue eyes turned bloodshot and teary
so much for an adventure she thought
she couldn't place her position in her congested mind
yet she had none but little strength much as she fought
she perspired yet it was darker than sunny
as she regretted focussing on the destination ,not the journey
Entering her vintage car was all she could remember
for her brain was roasting worse than a burning ember
it was like going through hell head first
made worse by the itching sub Saharan thirst
she mourned and cursed but after a time passed
she realised her agony was eating her voice
and instead ******** whispers leaving her no choice
but silence for she was suddenly voiceless and dumb
she tried to lift limb after limb but all were numb
she couldn't even blink as much as she couldn't think
serpentine tears crawled out her chilly visage
yet she could hardly scratch
All she saw was a blurry image
like she'd taken too much scotch
Had she? Had she tried to drink away her pain
**** the steering pressed into her chest
squeezing her heart, bruising her breast
the agony,despair and pain was driving her insane
she suddenly remembered every detail as the car heated
she was escaping from reality whence she cheated
Did she really think few bottles of bitter wine
would fix her mistakes,that drunk she'd feel fine?*
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
~
“Snowflakes gather in crystalline drfitings”
Lifting your hair, kissing the nape of your neck
Warm flesh waits on tippy toe desires
Lips brush skin, lower beyond silver chain clasp
Sighs slip past moon shadow echoes
“Frost bitten warnings fuel whistling winds”
Candlelight flickers in illumined frenzy
Strong hands caress velvet curves, moving
Satin ******* excite at the touch, firming
Mouths meet across milky shoulders
“Chilly coatings mingle, drafty windows squeal”
Reaching behind delicate fingers guide, slowly
Passion emanates from quivered partings
Honey drippings moisten, sticky, sweet
Whispered moans tantalize, moments ignite
“Wind chimes sing frantically behind icicle curtains”
Down pillow yearnings, grasped, held
Eyes look back, smiles meet motions
Held closer, breathless exhales on dreams exposed
Deeper finds the pristine moment
“Algid gusts wail through frigid echoed alleyways”
My name, loudly called, enchanted nirvana
Faster still, bodies in charged friction
Two become one, senses explode, flooding oasis
Eruptions quake bodies in perspired heap
“Arctic blast pierces sweltering pleasures”
Ecstasy sings in midnight harmonies
Melodic as the polar pulsations beyond
Numbed in devotion’s destinations
Wondrous snowy white blankets chill the world
“As our love provides winter’s perfect heat”
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
On the pavement littered with cigarette butts and desolate corks. The street lights flicked on and off as I traversed the path that leads me back to you.
The soles of my shoes cratered the lane as I trod along the alleyway that knows your name so well; on the bench nest disappointment and question, discussing what had happened; arguing what could have been. Around my legs hovers the hollow of my footfalls, trailing the breaths we have exhaled, the sweats we have perspired.
Perching on my hair were the shards of our glittering kisses. Faintly they flick, on and off, to the touch of the moon every time the light passed through the bar, or whenever the bar passed through me. Its silver glow sleeps and snores.
Empty alcohol bottles standing beside the bin reminds me of the hours we have exhausted, your jeans and our dreams stretched between you and me. I can vividly remember the sound of our uneven gasps fluttering around like restless butterflies. Sometimes, it perched on the wall, on the curtain, on the window.
Sometimes, on your hair. Sometimes, on mine. And sometimes on my hand flat on the door while the other fumbles for the key as the entrance slowly widen and summer steals me away from the world outside.
I tossed my shoes, balled up on the couch, dissolved among the creases on the blanket, consumed your smell then closed my eyes.
This dawn , I shall be meeting you.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Poems
1706 published / 43 drafts / 14 hidden
no matter how much spillage of
inspired words are perspired
into poetic
existence,
new ideas push themselves
to the top of the line,
with every eyelash
flutter to falling,
so there seems
always a restless but consistent cohort of
43 draftees
in my lipstadt persona
(one among so many)
inescapably
demanding,
like a dentist happiest
when commencing to
drill you in to submission
but smiling since
the novocaine
hasn’t fully…
that when
a poem,
even a new tooth
is c r e a t ed
in the gum of you,
seed~ed but not fully form~ed,
somehow
a new title is
auto~entitled,
whisked into
a never cold cup of
“what’s next.”
a laundry line
of the great
washed
but needy
for drying out,
not yet ready
for prime time
thus this
never endingness
is one more
perpetual eternal,
a cousin to
gravity
a direct order to be
born/resolved/loved/
only to be sent away
with a firm loving
push
with
no word of
farewell
(and not forgetting
to mention the thousand
of half breeds,
started, left
writ incomplete,
in my official
cemetery
a/ka
my actual draft file)
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 1:11 PM UTC
Footsteps that were past tense echoing
upon me like thunder, then the lightning
fell upon my vision and it went murky
in sight. I was within an eclipse of darkness.
Hands clapping on my thoughts urging
me to arise from this ill-gotten slumber.
I was tied as if to be burnt on the stake
of old, raised on feet I gazed in confusion.
A rope levitated my throat to upper reaches
just enough for breath but I gazed on a
room of discord. All was as if anger had taken
form and expelled itself on the surroundings.
With muttered echoes I spoke, "is anyone there,
But my words fell like dead leafs from autumns
cold voice. I waited upon the mirrors reflection
bouncing back at me of incoherent thoughts.
"Hello Peter, how are we today,
Confusion was my playmate as I considered my
reaction to this voice of my solitude. I recounted
the many repetitions of who I had angered in
my life. And on me I struggled under there weight.
"There was a little called Alice her hair like sand,
"She was the apple in the eyes sweet and beautiful,
"And you took that all away, away from all she loved,
Karma had stewed for so long I could smell it on my
conscience, and I knew that my end was but echoes
of memories away. "I know who you are, technicalities
were my weapon of choosing to those ill fated in meeting.
She was one such one, and there were a few before her.
But I retired from that form of endorphin rush. I became
placid like the lonely tormented sheep around me.
"I'm was a good little boy, no need to take this further,
But like a sphere once you take that first step you'll
end up at the beginning once again. I saw myself in
this dilemma, not as in this scene but others playing out.
And within those few thoughts I felt what was karma.
As I felt so warm at peace with this action, but then the
reality swept those lingering dreams away. I was dying,
A replay of what perspired in past memories but not her
me in that place. "Karma always finds you,
They were his last words, I don't know which father
brother friend they were. But now they had felt the
lingering sensation of expelling life. Would they
keep it secluded or would they become lik.............................
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
I look back to when I retired
most of life till then perspired
put foot to rear and not get fired
incurred recurring tasks till tired.
Work every day, enduring each
for sixty five years to reach
a one in two chance beseech
one dozen left to enjoy the beach.
Though now there are long naps to take
avoiding chance lest body break
choke down pills and limit cake
extending time for old times' sake.
So retire thoughts that make you wait
make the leap, don't delay fate
take anew each day, each date
moment to savor, cherish, create!
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Strength is a body , beauty is a mind .
A little girls pleasure is a beating .
As she has no misery when she realizes , love .
It comes in the smallest drops, mouse's cage .
Cinderella , Cinderella !
So I step up, that's that mental .
Cause I cant watch the land slide .
Better before the hour becomes to late
My hands become cold, sweat perspired .
Sun rises, run and play .
My smile brings crystal eyes .
But when the little boy,
He gives his loud opinion, has an attitude .
Girl, she risks anything for him .
Outburst of passionate energy rises from her being,
Her spirit is stirred,
Like a witch brews a bountiful stew
Her heart raises to take the lead
Colors unseen , blunt and beautiful .
She doesn't see why they need be offended
It's how I play, this my game .
A person so full , enough to mix the world .
As she turns to a beautiful young lady ,
Opportune time to try and fly
Too fortunate to be cared for,
What the hell babe?
She continues to turn the table
With her hand, Queen of hearts .
Flush, the ******** .
Her luck is vibrant in her life,
August approaches .
Each day is tweaked, to the perfect direction.
Navigation is her freedom .
What they call a 'Secret',
That's what I call ignorance .
Its all around and I watch it every day .
Like a mermaid laid out on a boulder
And watches waves crash on the shoulder,
and keeps singing those handsome lullabies.
So as this world cranks into action ,
I sit by and watch as it is turning to a direction that is love .
Can you imagine, a single girl knowing so much
Her friends family, never knew all this one child could inspire
It was all so plain to see for them, boom.
I'm useful and nice, our smirks.
Like we don't already know what they mean .
, they should look at their pitiful mirror .
Like a one way street, but somehow they still made some turns?
Looking up to only themselves, everyone else was feeble?
I laugh, just a giggle, followed by a sigh .
To see my happiness send someone to hell .
Burning for fame, their passion is lust .
Bad ******* tip toe .
You didn't see me leave . ♥
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
the silent impact passes as movements become masses and the despised things become what we're after. we're our own last chapter, ununique to the minute but maybe rare the moment after. we're glued to television screens the preach our own defeat and don't even acknowledge our new masters or their dying dreams. your life is a worried line and devoid of devoted patchwork.
dire sirens blaze as i ire lights to do the same
fire consumes desire and wired nights are left to blame
while the mired tired chime in that they also want a taste
the inspired have conspired and perspired away the shame
the flights are nights we've compiled into piles
and sights and lights are set on the ceiling and tiles
the fights deny what's right and blood goes for miles
and the right to die is what's sequencing our style
your moment was a second and it was shot to death in front of you. but first it asked what you are going to do. sit around and wait for a second chance to lose any moment that'll never come again and always shows up too soon? or sleep all day and forget you had a better life to prove?
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
When the King rode off to the old Crusades
He was leaving his Queen behind,
Safe in the hands of his former aids
He was coy, but he wasn’t blind.
He kept her locked in a chastity belt
And hid the key in his gaol,
Then swore the Gaoler to guard it well
Though the gaoler went quite pale.
How could he give a ‘No’ to a Queen,
Or ‘No’ to her favourite Earl,
So he perspired when the King retired
And travelled half round the world.
The Queen was troubled, she said it chafed
And demanded he give her the key,
‘But no, My Lady, I wouldn’t dare,
It would mean the end for me.’
‘Do you think he’ll even remember your face
By the time that he gets back home?
I’ll have you gutted, and then replaced
While he’s still out there to roam.
I’ll ask the headsman to bring his axe,
The hangman to bring his rope,
And six fine horses to tear you apart
If you think there’s a spark of hope.’
‘Your pardon, Lady, I gave my oath
And am bound by the King’s decree,
He swore I’d burn in a barrel of tar
If ever I give up the key.’
‘Then I shall boil you in oil,’ she said,
‘And strip the skin from your bones,
I’ll feed your fat to the pigs,’ she said,
‘And take delight in your moans.’
He sought protection from higher up,
The Earl had noticed his plight,
And said, ‘I’ll send you my personal guard
If you lend me the key one night.
I’ll guard it well, and you’ll get it back
When the sun comes up at dawn,
Not a word of this shall pass my lips
As I stand, an Earl has sworn.’
The gaoler gibbered in fear and grief
He could see his head on a spike,
‘I can’t conspire with your lord’s desire
No matter how much I’d like.
The key is hid in a secret place
That is only known to the King,
He hid it where there would be no trace,
It’s only a tiny thing.’
The Earl then sent his guards to the gaol
And they tore the place apart,
While searching for the chastity key
To settle his troubled heart.
The Queen sat in her apartments, on
A cushion of fine brocade,
It helped to ease where the belt had teased,
And hid where the Earl had played.
The key they found, hid under a slab
At the base of the dungeon door,
And soon the lovers were lain together
The chastity belt on the floor.
The months went by in a lovers sigh
Til the King and his knights rode back,
Their shields and helmets worn and dented
In Saladin’s fierce attack.
The Queen’s trim figure was rather big
When the key was put to the belt,
It’s hard to know what a King would show,
And harder to know what he felt.
But he burnt the Earl in a barrel of tar
And the gaoler did what he said,
He lowered the Queen in a barrel of oil
Til it bubbled up over her head.
David Lewis Paget
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
Your birth was a storm of pain.
Red clouds
Roiling above a viscous sea.
Each surge
A bargain made with nature
For redemption, for release.
But I was never afraid.
I listened to you, your quiet calm,
Connecting, even then.
I breathed, perspired and rode
the rapids of my body,
Followed the pulse and rhythm of something unrestrained,
Released from deep within,
Urging me on.
There's a moment, when birthing
Like finding yourself alone, in a hot air balloon,
Rising higher and higher
Without the hope of return to solid ground.
You feel your insides gather, prepare for something new,
And it is new,
Indescribable, other, you feel like a creature from another world
And that's what you looked like too.
Little alien, yet so familiar
Eyes on each other
Daughter and mother.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
it were a day and a day
since ago we meted
drinking the curving
swill of dank *****
magic
against the
**** breast press
upholstered
bench
seats of my auto silver
bodied vehicle
(where you dug down
your teeth
sharply
into the pink membrane
of bottomer lip upon
your quaking
face a groan
through which perspired
stiffly
as grinding i
pushing
your darkly follicled
amazing head
down
*** up
)
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
Your birth was a storm of pain.
Red clouds
Roiling above a viscous sea.
Each surge
A bargain made with nature
For redemption, for release.
But I was never afraid.
I listened to you, your quiet calm,
Connecting, even then.
I breathed, perspired and rode
the rapids of my body,
Followed the pulse and rhythm of something unrestrained,
Released from deep within,
Urging me on.
There's a moment, when birthing
Like finding yourself alone, in a hot air balloon,
Rising higher and higher
Without the hope of return to solid ground.
You feel your insides gather, prepare for something new,
And it is new,
Indescribable, other, you feel like a creature from another world
And that's what you looked like too.
Little alien, yet so familiar
Eyes on each other
Daughter and mother.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Optimism
The dogma that is oh so self-assured of the contingency
proclaiming the prevalence of good over infamy
as though it is incontrovertibly concordant with factual certainty
'tis merely a fallacy or an element of a fantasy in which people live in harmony
Life
But really, in this cruel realm, the mistakes of our forefathers
manifest themselves as demons hollering at us to notify us of the need to be better in this endeavour
or we'd get slaughtered with the blade of a knife comprised of their defeats altogether
forged into a skin piercing crystal reminiscent of their congealed sweat that perspired from the extreme pressure
stimulated from bottling up anger and restraining themselves from speaking up against transgressors
nevertheless, we make the same mistakes to pass it on to the next generation deeming them the successors of displeasure tolerators
Death
What are the benefits of labouring through a 9 to 5 job if its eventuality
is the same as that of lying on the ground all day? It will all come to a finality
the universe is indifferent towards our actuality. It will continue expanding until it reaches the point of totality
emotions are nothing but particular sequences of electric pulses in wads of matter, faulty physicality
any memory held by any entity will eventually be lost at the end of this simulation played out chronologically
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC
Hairs that stuck out
underneath blankets
were her solace-
She perspired
underneath harsh sunlight
that Dawned through
half shut curtains
of a stranger’s bedroom.
Her skin glittered as
each speck of light caught
the tails off each droplet
running down her jugular-
They tasted just the same
as the rhinestone grains
trailing her face-
Each made a solitaire
fit into the tightest
clasp of dirtied hands
that wiped her clean
of her significance-
The calamity that
made sure her Dog Days
were never meant to be
spent out in the Sun
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Ask not the name of the man who speaks here.
He has traveled the long dusty way, and
Through pastures sought the better life and the
Way that is not broad, but narrow, unsought,
And travailing yes I say that I have
Come to this, now, that you may, unto me,
Ask the undying question that is of
The everyman and his suitors many.
For I say unto you, I have witnessed the breaches of man’s will,
And have bought talent with shrill motion.
I have sauntered upon the long dusty way, and I say to you
It is not what it figures, appears not
As it seems to me, yet I long the toes of my feet through its dust,
Admire the gentle gleams that aspire
To godhead like me, to Sunlight with crystal formations and dust,
And longing have I perspired here
Long hours in the midnight drone, and have bought with cheap glass the fire
That is promised only to the man who has nothing.
This I say to the longing, the begging, the thieves,
The stealing conniving and prattling on like
Bees in the springtime, honeybees so forgetful,
So lusting after the next flower, to make good
On the oaths of children and fathers, to find that
No oath could be so magnificent, no oath could
Make good what thing the sailing Odysseus sought,
Might have sought were he of godlier kind, might have
Heeded were he not of the atrocious living
You and me, but so we are and so we must contend,
Contend with the flesh and the life and the death, the
Longing, the dribbling, the hours ill spent, to find
Not to find, and to live not to live, best
It seems to you and me, prattling and squandering
Life for the grave, with little time left: Such are we made.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC