Point of Reference (Verisimilitude)

Mercury questions an ageless dilemma…

An escape that we seek often not only sits before us but also chooses to stare deeply back into our eyes and in the timespan of a blink, where we once were is not where we stand…

Dream lovers of our imaginations and prisoners of our fears… should we wield the courage to reach out and there be nothing but physicality to the touch, the grasp of peace that love offers eludes us and the pathway to the heart becomes a map of roads that don’t lead…

…Those roads… the numerous thoughts that have been walked upon but never really traveled, because where they go are quite a distance from home… a distance from ourselves where we have already found comfort alone… yet companionship is the yearn…

…and there is a darkness that bears the weight of the ocean surrounding us, our movements are slow within it and we can hear the hush of the approaching waves in the distance… hoping that they will wash over us as a sentence manages to part from our souls having no use for our lips…

We pose the universe… Is this real? Because our hearts no longer possess the strength to become unbroken.

Lost Art of Conversation (Mamihlapinatpai)

A calm would wash over me, should our eyes connect and I not feel as if I have become the oblivion that you have chosen to stare into…
Many questions that could be asked of you, were it not for the tremendous weight of the thoughts standing firmly on my mind that gently seal my lips…
Lips that do not move, so you can’t read them… but I am still here… sitting still… a patient of my patience appearing to stare blankly, hoping that you at some point will see tomorrow today and stop waiting around to see if I will stop waiting around…
…and
I listen to the sound of tears hydrating my skin momentarily before falling to the floor with the softest pat that echoes across the room… the reality that I have been forgotten begins to take root…
…If only I were nothing but a shadow I would be able bear the moments during the day where you knew I was there looking back at you, knowing that come the night I could easily camouflage into the darkness and observe you to see if you’d truly miss me if I were gone… I could bring myself within inches of your skin to touch you…
…but
…I would know the distance of my fingertips to your heart could only be traveled should the words I feel be heard and yet the uncertainty of the expression ever being returned keeps them locked away… not because they’ve never been said but because they’ve never been listened to…
[I Love You]
My soul screams… and my eyes cry… and I stay… Your eye’s see my pain knowing that inside you is not where I am… I am outside… and there I will remain… Without a single word, we both know that tomorrow… We will look upon our last night together… Never to speak again.

Angell #1

You are…

So the question is not if I can see you, for the possibility of peering through the flesh is impossible and you are far from invisible…

For all of the world to see… the people walk by… I stop, staring to appreciate…

My what you mean to me…

In mere seconds the amount of time given to me on this earth decreases, yet the value in spending time in connection gifts time belonging only to me as I stand before you removing layer upon layer with my eyes to see you all the while becoming naked myself…

Beyond sex and the intimacy of a kiss is a look at you with both intensity and vulnerability for to do so bears the contract of a willingness to be seen just the same…

You are the art of work, of experience, of pain, of happiness, of love, of life lived… you are a work of art.

Mendacious (Pathway to admit the truth)

How I came be… that was an act of love from which I was birthed.

Who I am…

Is the result of years of experiences that are unique to me and no one else. There was no map leading me to this point, just the same as there was no road map that lead me to you…

When I met you… My beginning was so far away and yet where I stood felt very much like home, so much so that looking back seemed to only be something that was meant to be learned from and not relived…

Breathing a sigh of relief I took the leap of faith…

Not once ever considering if you needed to be caught… my feet touched the ground beside you…

I took your hand and began walking…

Where we were going… I can’t exactly say… because everything was so brand new, it didn’t really seem to matter and now the matter at hand is that mine which once held yours is now empty… I can’t see you and even worse I don’t know where I am…

How did we get here?

To a place where all that is left with me are the faint phantoms of all things that are you and where all the ghosts of me reside with you… yet we no longer occupy the same space. A place where I’ve already learned that looking back may give me an answer… knowing that what I am really looking for is the pathway leading back to you…

But the only road that is lit, is the one that places me farther away… So I take it, promising myself that I will forget you…

But I lied…

I miss you…

Untitled #8

Time will pass…

Mere seconds into days that are to eventually become the years that go by into a destination unknown… during which I have become an admirer of you…

There is an art to you… that I have observed and chosen to keep inside of my heart.

For if memory serves me correctly… over time memories fade and should my mind decide to do so… should I only be able to keep one thought… it would be to remember to look into my heart and see you…

Not that my eyes will fail to see the woman before me… but in time… in your presence, I will have been granted the ability to see deeper into the source of what makes you so unique. The gift of being able to view the galaxy within you from the molded sand and clay used to form you…

Beautiful from the very moment of your creation… so there was no mistake that it is meant to be everlasting to the one that loves the sight of you.

Untitled #6

What I could say that would capture your heart never need pass in thought nor over my lips… For what good would it do behold a heart that does not see the light of day, for caged birds do not sing…

… and I have waited patiently to hear your song… Though I must confess that despite the fact that my ears had not heard a single note, my soul would tune in… listening closely when you were near… Wondering the color of your love…?

And what I would do should that pigment ever stain my fingers…

If allowed to take my hands, submerge them into you and with your essence at my fingertips… compose the world of your dreams right before your eyes… using nothing but your primary colors provided…

… Your reds of anger, frustration and love…

… Yellows of your happiness and laughter…

… Blues of your tranquility and also sadness…

Three colors and a world of possibilities all contained in one heart…

So how dare I to ever try and detain one that beats in melodies that make my soul waltz in thoughts of your color pouring into me slowly like finger-paints yet fluid as watercolors… yet I would never want to draw a single tear… diluting the intensity of your world…

… I am your painter… and the canvas upon which I paint your dreams will be my own beating heart…

A Story of Things Past…

Every day Jonathan greeted the bus driver with a smile and a nearly inaudible good morning as he stepped into the doorway. He caught the bus just two stations away from the beginning of the line so it was always pretty vacant, except for a little girl who’s recently been sitting sat at the very back of the bus everyday. ‘Most likely a latch key kid’ Jonathan would often think to himself and then go about his routine of walking to the middle of the bus dusting off a seat, sitting down and then slowly sip his coffee as he gazed out the window at the world going by. This morning however had something different in store for the mild mannered soft spoken gentleman for shortly after he sat down and had his first taste of coffee, the driver ran over a deep pot hole that rumbled the bus with the force of a contained earthquake that caused Jonathan to grip the cup tightly popping the lid and spilling all over himself.

“Sorry” said the bus driver as he recovered from the rumble himself as he pulled up to the next bus stop. Jonathan stood up brushed himself off and quickly found another seat not covered in coffee at the back of the bus as other patrons boarded. His new seat was not positioned to where he could easily look out of the window, but instead it was facing the little girl that was on the bus before him.

Not being one for odd interactions Jonathan attempted to gaze out of the window behind him but found it awkward twisting his body and angling his neck without strain. So he took a deep breath, repositioned and looked straight ahead in the direction of the little girl which as if by a gentle force caused him to look directly at her.

She wore pink rain boots with a raincoat to match, her hair was black; pulled into a ponytail and her eyes were a deep brown that of an old oak tree. Around her neck she wore a brass pendant in the shape of trumpet that looked an awful lot like the one he bought his wife that had passed away some months ago after a battle with cancer. He bought it to remind her of the night they met at a jazz club after he performed “There is no Greater Love” by Miles Davis. She loved to hear Jonathan play, in fact that night is why she fell in love with him but during her struggle with the sickness he hardly found the strength to do so and following her death not at all.

Lost in this haze of thought Jonathan hadn’t taken notice that his stop had come and that already off the bus. He crossed the street then turned to look back at the bus to see if he could still see the little girl, but she had vanished. In the window however read the word “Play”.

He carried her memory.

Absolution (Capturing Angels)

What is this unfair advantage?

That I would write a million words to capture your soul,

only to deeply and truly understand that it will never fully

belong to me…

Yet you need say nor scribe a single word…

and in the very act of even imagining your look upon me,

you are able to extract vivid descriptions of how I see you

for your own keeping…

And my soul is not at rest…

wondering where you keep them because

the are a part of me…

And yes… knowing that they are with you

as they are intended to be…

comforts me to know they are in a good place…

But this place I for myself have not seen…

I dream of it… but east of where I lay,

a new day will soon begin and along with it, the vision fades from my memory…

and as level as my bed may rest,

the seventy-eight percent of me composed of water

brews storms of anxiety knowing that before I even open my eyes…

my morning will be spent alone…

I die a little… my heart… cries a little…

yet I am dehydrated… parched for your love

and you are not near… but it also doesn’t feel as if you are miles away…

So even knowing that your soul will never be mine…

with only a few words true from my heart…

for a moment I can touch it… steal a glimpse of it in the palest of lights

and in the midst of the darkest nights when I need it most…

cling to it until the dawn of a new day…

Because I was given a gift,

that allows me to do so all in the name of love,

until the day I am rendered speechless.

(122114NP)

The Photographer (The Darkroom)

The conversation will end and every glance that could be sent across a table has been received, enjoyed and returned…

Smiles and laughter will linger in the air, haunting as if a memory begging to be held on to for fear of passing over to moments forgotten…

Take a picture and it is said that it will last longer…

But if that is the fate of becoming immortalized then let the photograph to be, not become… for I will only accept the passing of time, to take you from me… and I refuse to limit myself to but a thousand words when it comes to you…

Though it is extremely challenging to say anything more than you are so beautiful… Over time I will say it in so many ways, surpassing the thousands of words that most would stop because they figured enough has been said… Because they look at you and not in you…

I see you…

Knowing that all the pictures in the world could not possibly capture you… that they may perish in a fire, smear from being handled, damage from water… and fade from time…

That the actual you… will inspire a burning love… beckon to be held… may cry every now and again… and in time leave this world…

The day I met you, my soul took a picture of you and developed it in my heart…

 

(NNE14)

Carillons à Musique (Silence)

The world rages on… though you needn’t fear…

Hush…

What I hear shall not fall upon you… but the lullaby of my heart beating will resonate to yours… providing the only reason you will ever find tears, that do not come from pain…

Speak not…

For there is not a single word that need pass between us, while my arms hold you close that could even begin to describe what I wish for you to know…

Feel…

The water from my eyes that are extracted from the very center of my unselfishness (… you are so beautiful…) and let them wash you over, but never away….

I am yours… you are mine…

Forever I will love you…