Until the dictionary fails me
Until the thesaurus is abused
Until the languages are learned
Until synonym, antonym, syllable, and spelling are all but barren beyond fruition of thought
Until the words can take on no new meaning
And I am forced to fabricate my own
Even then, I will pen on
Combination after combination of definition and pronunciation
And imagery and subtle magic
It thoroughly amazes me
The endless conglomeration of dictations
The pungent potpourri of variable expressions and interpretations
This is a true passion
And undying dedication
To the succulent appeal of the formations that make an experience upon undulation
F
L
O
Q
S
W
Y
Every lovely blossom as innocent in view
As sensual on the tongue
As liberating to the voice
As melodic to the ear
I enfold myself in the ever cool and calm pages before me
Anticipatory of a rousing discovery
Some new formula of correspondence with the outer world
I place my constant reliance on the belief in interpreted understanding
As little as I know of this world and this life
I am beholden to the donor of such a gracious gift
To convey what I know and know not
To communicate the growth and learning that will most assuredly come
I am awed and inspired
To know a codependent love such as this
Thought, page, and pen
And a healthy abundance of all
I am capable, willing, and elated to pursue
And will continue to long after I cease
And my returns are a happy and gratified many
Sunday, May 31, 2009
A Patient Cause
There are many things you may never know
But not for my own exhausted efforts
There are things I would love to make you understand
But, Darling, I fear I don't have the capacity
The illustrations, the syllables
Though my eyes, my voice, my patience
They strain to make it known to you
And I meditate on the notion that you might clearly see it day by day
Even if, in truth, you still seem to let it elude you
The clearing that my mind takes
At the thought of your fondest actions, places, moments in time
That you allow me to experience with you through your own recollections
The soothing that reaches up through the bottom-most part of me
That which penetrates out at the world through my very pores
When I feel, even for an instant, that you are thinking of me
And the cold rush of an undeniably calming breeze
That is your voice saturating my weary and fevered ears
In whatever state, good or evil, that your words may be forming from
You, my Dear, are by turns a warm sun, a generous cloud, a penetrating rain
Merely by the positions of your identity
And it is always exactly the need I couldn't name
At a time that I didn't know it existed
You are an axis to my being, even if only now
And a blessed determinate view before my endlessly unfolding pathway
Though I know you will never let yourself agree
For modest hearts do always struggle with letting appreciative truths just be what they are
And though such short-lived acts as speech and touch
Will never rightly convey my love
Love is time, and my time I devote to you
Longer than it may take to prove
And, even still, after you believe me
My cause
Will be making it known all over again to you
But not for my own exhausted efforts
There are things I would love to make you understand
But, Darling, I fear I don't have the capacity
The illustrations, the syllables
Though my eyes, my voice, my patience
They strain to make it known to you
And I meditate on the notion that you might clearly see it day by day
Even if, in truth, you still seem to let it elude you
The clearing that my mind takes
At the thought of your fondest actions, places, moments in time
That you allow me to experience with you through your own recollections
The soothing that reaches up through the bottom-most part of me
That which penetrates out at the world through my very pores
When I feel, even for an instant, that you are thinking of me
And the cold rush of an undeniably calming breeze
That is your voice saturating my weary and fevered ears
In whatever state, good or evil, that your words may be forming from
You, my Dear, are by turns a warm sun, a generous cloud, a penetrating rain
Merely by the positions of your identity
And it is always exactly the need I couldn't name
At a time that I didn't know it existed
You are an axis to my being, even if only now
And a blessed determinate view before my endlessly unfolding pathway
Though I know you will never let yourself agree
For modest hearts do always struggle with letting appreciative truths just be what they are
And though such short-lived acts as speech and touch
Will never rightly convey my love
Love is time, and my time I devote to you
Longer than it may take to prove
And, even still, after you believe me
My cause
Will be making it known all over again to you
Friday, May 29, 2009
A Cry For Help
I began to hate the night not so long ago
It was just before my unenthusiastic gaze met your face
And, though I felt what I was about to do was wrong
For both you and I,
I proceded
I sincerely damn the longing that is within me
And I am still not sure what it is for
The days when I had everything within my reach
Were the same days that I wanted none of it
Now that I have lost everything
I cling to the fabricated memory of what could have been
Every detail of what I could have been
I can smell the mold in the walls of the old house
Where I have so willingly, and yet unwillingly become imprisoned
I wish for the return of simple momentary things that were, not so long ago, docile in my palm
I have closed myself off from the world
When all that I long for from the very depths of me is a company
Is it any company that I pine for?
Or is it a particular being that I will to be near?
The house is empty, but for me
The sleeping dog gives no comfort, as he has no idea
All I see are me are the negative tool of internal and external destruction I could, at a set mind, employ... but, no
The silence has enclosed me and cornered me to a frightening place
And yet the ringer on the phone has been turned off
I am willing this ever further
This imminent departure
Yet the only concerns that I have are not for me
I have written the letters and shrugged away the apologies that I once decided would only be polite to give
I have realized, only now, the pointless logic of what has been pressing my mind
The very truth that things will only happen when all circumstances come into play at the right time
And every morning, the new light reawakens me
Only to fade with the dusk
Could I alter the path of this planet's rotation and keep myself in the sun's full view at all times, I would
If only to postpone, and possibly discourage this feeling
For, you see, as the night falls
With it recedes my confidence to continue
A twenty-four hour looping struggle that has had me weary up to this time
The romanticized books, meant to distract my wandering mind
Have served only to realize the lack of whatever is not here that much stronger
I have read ten to twenty 'I love yous' per chapter
I have seen the words there, plain as day
I have heard the words in my head over and over
Only to be reminded that they were not for me
And how strongly the desire stands to hear them
To crash recklessly into the body of whoever happens to utter them
And fasten myself submittedly to it
Still a child, I know
As it is blatantly obvious, now
That for all the eloquence of my sly attempt at convincing myself not to believe in something so irrational
I still feel the absence of its presence
There are people I could phone
But the only voice I could bring myself to listen to does not answer
I have seen why I loathe the darkness
My discontent for the evening grows larger by its every dark blossom
It is nights like these, uneventful, calm, and completely silent
That I can so clearly envision the accomplishment of what was set out to happen since the moment of my birth
There is a lack of interest, now, in my perch on this chair
In the clutter around me
In the people who have seemed, so willingly, to deny the persistence of anything wrong within me
Or perhaps my presence, altogether
And for all of this silence, I still feel as though I have said too much
A cry for help brings no help
When it is perfectly and pointedly composed
It was just before my unenthusiastic gaze met your face
And, though I felt what I was about to do was wrong
For both you and I,
I proceded
I sincerely damn the longing that is within me
And I am still not sure what it is for
The days when I had everything within my reach
Were the same days that I wanted none of it
Now that I have lost everything
I cling to the fabricated memory of what could have been
Every detail of what I could have been
I can smell the mold in the walls of the old house
Where I have so willingly, and yet unwillingly become imprisoned
I wish for the return of simple momentary things that were, not so long ago, docile in my palm
I have closed myself off from the world
When all that I long for from the very depths of me is a company
Is it any company that I pine for?
Or is it a particular being that I will to be near?
The house is empty, but for me
The sleeping dog gives no comfort, as he has no idea
All I see are me are the negative tool of internal and external destruction I could, at a set mind, employ... but, no
The silence has enclosed me and cornered me to a frightening place
And yet the ringer on the phone has been turned off
I am willing this ever further
This imminent departure
Yet the only concerns that I have are not for me
I have written the letters and shrugged away the apologies that I once decided would only be polite to give
I have realized, only now, the pointless logic of what has been pressing my mind
The very truth that things will only happen when all circumstances come into play at the right time
And every morning, the new light reawakens me
Only to fade with the dusk
Could I alter the path of this planet's rotation and keep myself in the sun's full view at all times, I would
If only to postpone, and possibly discourage this feeling
For, you see, as the night falls
With it recedes my confidence to continue
A twenty-four hour looping struggle that has had me weary up to this time
The romanticized books, meant to distract my wandering mind
Have served only to realize the lack of whatever is not here that much stronger
I have read ten to twenty 'I love yous' per chapter
I have seen the words there, plain as day
I have heard the words in my head over and over
Only to be reminded that they were not for me
And how strongly the desire stands to hear them
To crash recklessly into the body of whoever happens to utter them
And fasten myself submittedly to it
Still a child, I know
As it is blatantly obvious, now
That for all the eloquence of my sly attempt at convincing myself not to believe in something so irrational
I still feel the absence of its presence
There are people I could phone
But the only voice I could bring myself to listen to does not answer
I have seen why I loathe the darkness
My discontent for the evening grows larger by its every dark blossom
It is nights like these, uneventful, calm, and completely silent
That I can so clearly envision the accomplishment of what was set out to happen since the moment of my birth
There is a lack of interest, now, in my perch on this chair
In the clutter around me
In the people who have seemed, so willingly, to deny the persistence of anything wrong within me
Or perhaps my presence, altogether
And for all of this silence, I still feel as though I have said too much
A cry for help brings no help
When it is perfectly and pointedly composed
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