I see the dimming lights in their eyes,
of something often,
of something close,
of something cherished,
of something forgotten.
There is futility in attempting to put these pieces together,
But I am drawn to it–
this exercise in impossibility.
I’ve dreamt of the paths untrodden,
that they might have missed to reach this place
of unfounded dreams and unspoken hopes.
To label this failure would be too easy.
On this seemingly fruitless journey, we have been waiting.
Haltingly going neither backwards nor upwards-
Floating between the intermediary of who we dreamed to become
that which our reflections mockingly produce.
we make gods of our bodies
and starve passion through the unwritten literature of our souls.
we are searching,
searching perhaps for that which we lost long before this journey began.
searching greater still, for that which our hands have not formed
nor our minds fathomed.
And They tell us-
that we are dreaming larger than we can become-
Because becoming has never been
in our power-
I hear them in quiet moments.
These women with their mourning songs-
So hauntingly beautiful,
So hollow and wide
but always reaching my spirit in it’s darkest depths.
I sometimes call out to them to stop.
Knowing however, that I want nothing of the sort.
These women whose wails have created more life
and pleasure than can be comprehended.
They carry their mourning songs sewn and wrapped across their hearts.
These women with calloused hands that have cultivated and uprooted their hopes
and have faithfully watered the ego’s of pot-bellied husbands.
These mourning Women with their distant looks
and forgotten stories.
I have seen them many times before
in mirrors of the past and echos of the future
I shut my eyes and try to paint a lighter reflection-
one that demands less of my being.
She appears again, silent at first
And then her mourning song begins.
I met him in the dimly lit passage-way
between his fear of failure and his desire for power.
It was a different feeling, it pulled at me-
gripping my heart in such a frightening way.
Drawing me closer but leading me nowhere.
Having come this far, how could I return?
At this point of neither paradise nor destruction.
I stood and called out to him.
But he seemed to disappear into the faraway depth-
that of imagination and the pursuit of purpose.
Your hands like soft kisses upon this untamed terrain that is my body.
The touch which glimmers as though honey were burning over Bronze.
The volcanic sunset of our desires…
Boiling over and reduced to one cold drop of finality.
I imagine unspoken words, wishing upon them, like fragments of invisible glass,
Held franctically and carelessly.
Only now are,
heart, mind, body and soul in one assembly.