Give this wavering line
This movement of sand
This soft latex
Breathing in like summer wine
Summer dies in slow gasps
While winter builds piece on piece
Tell me your thoughts
Invite me into your memory
Winter takes its first step
Take my hand
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.
in silence bound
in seeking sought
where others bind
i was bought
when hearts collide and justice founds
my hopes do bide, in collision
sound siren call
in loves sweet sigh
in voices raised
where heavens call
undertree did dance
and palm to palm
and join to join
praised by kine
in moments ere the fall
they seek, they find,
the burn is seasons rime and dragging feet do come to call and hopes are risen
ere the fall
but drink my wine and drink my blood
and we shall step above the sea to feast and dance our revelry
you seek a fight, we seek to feast and in the middle there’ rise a beast
in death we feast and seek the battle draught
in life we love and lust
break bread with us, break meek
Yup, I hate spring. It is the low point of my year. The lowest point of any year. Winter solstice is bad enough. At least there winter is at the height of its powers. Spring equinox and its all downhill. 3 months of low ebb. I quote the great man when I say “Buggerit, millennium hand and shrimp!”
Present in the moment is as much curse as blessing.
With the future nothing more than a ephemeral dream, present becomes of such importance. And not being with those I would choose, who I have no idea if they would choose me, is like being shredded apart only to coalesce whole at the start of the day. Each minute is a new chance, and so each minute becomes a failure. Until the weight of such drags me down to dreaming. At least in oblivion, desire is fulfilled. Though only shadows as portent and memory fade.
After the winter solstice it all winds down. A clockwork spending its energy. This is the time most people wake and grow. This is the time that I fade.