One promise made too many,
though not by its own weight,
but only to compete a prior
adopted in a sadder phase;
But no one else has heard it!
A mental note rehearsed at best,
that reading now, I should discard,
were it so easy to erase regret;
And knowing how impossible
to service two opposing hosts,
I outward pledge the second…
while lurks the real foremost.
Potential here. I guess there’s always potential in conflict and drama, which is precisely the problem.
There is courage in non-movement,
the standing still to bear discomforts
that many eager heroes do not know
in all their gaudy, dashing efforts —
There is of course foolishness too,
for statues commemorate action
and to expect a still for stillness
demands too much of public inattention.
Choices, choices. Whatever you choose to do (or don’t), accept the outcome, however dull or lively.
The debt collector gets his share indeed
despite the smartest daylight-pinchers,
for every hour sleep they can evade
just means more interest some day later,
and never did he cared for any cause
contrived for mornings steeped in coffee,
all the while itemizing what he lost
for the taking at his urgencies.
How did that one quote go again…men dream of killing time, while time secretly kills them. Sleep can be quite similar in a way…
Those vital pulses giving in
to the now relaxed defenses,
the pent up years of Jericho
shattered in one silent touch
as heartbeats fuel the flood
rippling through the vessel,
finding itself engorged in lust
and made a foolish vassal.
The urge to just let go, both terrifying as it is liberating. To not have full control of your next steps, be it to a dance or dirge.
That joy the eyes can’t see,
enchanted by warm sake,
as the blushing starts to race
in desirous synchrony,
forgetting shoulders’ burden
as the strands are cast aside,
the hands in one combined
heatedly embrace paradise.
My brain needs a hug right now. I have a knack for pushing it to exhaustion needlessly.
Thinking of you,
always so warmly,
as the last ray
starts to fade
and with it too
all visual clarity;
What may be so,
the shadowy shows
a trick of fireflies
with a hint
of some bright
Once again I’m left to quiet contemplation. Once again my thoughts find their way back to our joys. The what-ifs, what-could-have-been…what is. What is but the sun rising once again. And yes, the title is a Phantom reference. The song is growing on me.
We got enough heartbreak for one sober life,
so meet me, sweetheart, with a blurry glance
as our bodies sway to music, no, to alcohol —
who cares, let’s just be and dance.
Dance like the whole crowd’s watching us,
entranced by the ritual of the drunks,
envying if only in our most stressful moments
a chance to forget all and worry none.
Dance like the sun will never rise again,
the headache aftermath a fiction unlike this,
sway with me, sweetheart, as though you
and I alone can know this momentary bliss.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it. I never could forget tomorrow…
As heat now dissipate
and dreams of daylight fade,
awaken fantasies of stars
strewn in constellations;
below a wandering pair
escape for now from instagram,
beyond recorded words,
immersed in dark ambiance.
Some nights, you just need a walk. A long walk going nowhere in particular.
It wasn’t words that brought me hope again,
and silent acts the same that simmered it,
but does hope mimic the rising sun, to set
not long after the rise, and then again?
Give me instead the moonlit night then,
ephemeral as our contradicting wants,
a multitude of sparkling witnesses who laugh
at our craving for a stable light source.
I was never good with the uncertainties of life. But I have to learn to make peace with it.
Repeat again your soft commands,
that gentle voice of beckoning,
and drop I will the mask which guards
the scars of weary days’ happenings,
relieve my thoughts, my shattered will,
direct once more my weak volition,
that in these hours you are lord,
and I but am mere supplicant.
No matter how mighty, how strong, still we must pay tribute to the darkness that is sleep.