I want that look in your eyes
That look of speculation
That says “I wonder.”
Of course
I want so much more than a look
Author: Pelgris
You are the storm, you say?
You speak of yourself as a storm. As if to warn me away. And in doing so, fail utterly, if that be your goal.
I am He who walks between. I speak with the embodiments of the elements, I cavort and hold friendship with those of air.
I follow the path of a lord of Storm, of night, of Winter.
You speak to me of your storm and I think, “Perfection.” Be you a storm. Strike wind and in fierceness know, in me you are home.
Should you care to make a place with me. Storms are not to be feared but loved. Shouted in joy. And should they calm, spoken soft words to and made ready for when next they stir.
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Midsummer night
I’ve got no idea what I’m doing most days. Just getting through, just getting on
Some days I wish I had stayed asleep. Had never loved…and lost. I knew who I was then. What I would do with my life. But I was loved and I was lost. And those doors are long closed. Memories I can’t even share. Secret lives, no matter how far in the past are a burden you never put down.
I feel like I traveled in a time machine the hard way. By living it. By sleepwalking through it. Clawing my way back to some new chance that eludes me. Maybe because I want it so much. Maybe because I hold on so tight. Maybe because I can’t let go. I feel like I’m starting over when most people seem to have at least a semblance of an idea where they are going.
They’re making future plans and I’m just trying to plan for having a future.
And yet I look at them living lives and I don’t understand them.
Passionate weirdos and artists and nerds I get. I don’t understand the earn money to earn more money to buy vacations to keep going to the job you hate to keep the marriage going that’s stable but without passion. And still, I look at what they have and I’m envious.
They’re living their chances and I get a few but never know how to get past the start.
I keep starting over and over and I’m always back to this place. Confident but alone.
Wondering what’s next.
Wondering if all the possibilities are in the past and all I have are these words I scream in the wilderness and these days that pass so slowly and so fast.
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Thought before bed
I have this reoccurring feeling that I sleep with someone in my arms. Their head resting on my chest, hearing the beating of my heart. We’re home. Together. We are each other’s home.
Maybe it’s just a dream. Maybe it’s something else. It’s one of the few things that comfort my sad heart. I hope, if they are real, it comforts them too.
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The past speaks and shapes
Could be the light but I shine too narrow
only to the few do I burn
all else know me for darkness
bit and piece, all slip shadow
one to hold, one to kiss, one to love
Or arm in arm strike pose
But know me for a thieves lantern
Hooded and focused
Spilling not wide but focused
And each to each
One moment in sorrow and another
Spend joy
Spinning between grace and oblivion
Consumed by swift and sweet
Heart slows
Beats pound and breath comes languid
Hold you tight
But watch you slip free my grasp
These faultlines
Taste terrible freedom
Better to dream
Than live in forever
In your normal life
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Song of the Day
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Background hum
Pages and pages of silence
Sink down to bones
Simple smiles and “I’m alright”
Harsh intake, razor lungs
Ragged and bleeding
This
And
This
And this
Last chances
Read in the falling snow
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Song of the Day
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What I want more than anything
What I want more than anything is you.
Have we met?
Am I waiting for you or you for me?
If you know, tell me. I dislike waiting.
I’m looking but not looking.
Not seeking but open.
Not persuing, except in dreams, and how to tell one dream from reality.
I can feel you in the world or is that my heart beating, resonating to a frequency you feel as shivers down your spine?
Have we spoken and I or you said something in our head which, if said aloud would have made all the difference?
Is it better to speak as if there is no tomorrow that matters excepting those seconds that pass while in your heart?
This eyeless sense of love moves me like a blind cave fish seeking warmth.
Or am I merely deluded, and is the delusion that love exists and waits for a word mere delusion or a hope?
And is a hope better than the truth of lonely nights?
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Minutes, wind and wistful
Heat slips into veins
Heart beating in time with the trickle pulse
Of desulatory wind
Welcome arms as old lovers
Embrace to catch the sun
Light shivers and moans
Bare skin burn
Thrust hopeful into embrace of day
Foreknowledge speaks the coming night
Tears break ranks
Falling to the thirsty earth
Moon and stars rise
High waters drown the light
And I
Forgotten
Sleep
Bereft of touch
Pelgris 