So Long, Solitude!
No direction or sense of place.
First, become lost, maybe then, found
Now unbound, fall into the hands of fate. Sails set with the half-shattered mast
Many moments come to pass, sound and still.
Such catharsis from once dragged, now let go.
Weary from being held onto too tight.
Quiet night, embrace me still
Embrace me still,
Bitter bed sheets
So swift and sure.
I have become tiresome,
As lonely sensual slumber
Drifts all night long.
No quiet company
In my sweet solitude,
Silent yet cumbersome.
Such gentle breaths
Raised rhythmically sound
And I slept on, swimmingly so.
Mindfulness poem No.3
Then there was silence.
For four weeks every morning finally,
My mind a terrible master, silent.
So silent I felt sane.
Green grass, plants, warm sun glow,
Subtle smoke haze wisps away.
Dotted ladybugs, dragonflies,
Perched upon neighbouring leaves.
I held tight, my cigarette
Cherry facing in.
I closed my eyes, till
It burnt my finger and thumb.
Poplar fluff caught in spiders’ silk;
Spiders’ silk caught in sunlight
Brought colours back to life.
After all, waking to harsh morning rain
Surprised me with open gates,
Blue sky and heavens embrace.
My thoughts, so loud
I’m afraid to be understood.
Today I only wish I had quiet company
So I didn’t have to second guess
Such morning glory.
Shadows Cast Over
Would you rather,
Admire someone from a distance.
Let the light of grace glimmer off from afar,
Capture beauty, briefly under sacred sunlight.
Or be too close,
Let your shadow cast over them.
To cower under shades of desperation,
To touch their beauty beneath fear and loathing.
Someone, somewhere, sometime ago
Rummaging through piles of old worn clothes,
Stray hairs belonging to strangers are found.
Stumbling back as if physically struck,
I am quick to brush the hair off in fear
This would trigger some awful reverie.
Though my body yearns to touch the past,
So I must hold tight that sole strand in thought.
Held under sunlit close inspection,
Ponder over the length of blonde complexion
And how of yore it uncurls whence pulled tout.
If I didn’t take to abandon in
Those dying moments of limerence or grace.
It’d be easier to distinguish
Whoever’s hair this is, although instead
All my nostalgias bound by bittersweet taste.
