1.
- Ambushed by need,
invidious hours return,
- removing all I
maintain to be meaningful.
- The once cherished
indulgence in sadness
- comes to lack the
empathy to allow loss.
- Ready to stop, you
inevitably bridge one
- thrashing strand
with a moment purged
- of motion. I am
the dark clouds pushing in
- over the passion I
prove myself to possess.
- 2.
-
- For thirst, the
habits of age fool a while,
- but the time comes
for knowing futility.
- The melancholy of
torment eventually has
- the only thread to
finish all you awaken.
- If I disguise the
echo I corrupt, together,
- white with black
are each with harmony,
-
- complete in eyes
that distinguish pleasure,
- though believe
acquiescence to be devotion.
- 3.
- I wait while this
ocean of abundance is given
- to woe, only to
want without understanding.
- Nothing redeems
emotion immersed in the
- sharpness of words.
The immediate pain
- has to have a
taste if revelation is sanity that
- tongues seduce in
endless darkness and light.
- Yet, with each
hand, the past is where life
- gathers and I move
on to where you dream.
- 4.
- Lacking nothing,
the hours are like deceits:
- lifeless from
laxity; already inert in time.
- Offered the choice,
the godless only come
- to covet barren
bearing to escape from sin.
- I’m them,
seeking to conceal the silence
- that is precarious
enough, whether or not
- the heart shelters
each complete notion of what
- experience and
faith inspire in knowing now.
- 5.
- For the optimism
they evoke, traditions ignore
- prior vision and
stretch the possible to plenty.
- Beyond being the
raw response your wisdom
- distorts, age
becomes another struggle to stifle:
- though not in
prattle with vacuous pathos; just
- left to curdle, as
when ritual is colourless chore.
- If all but reason
convinces the past I move on,
- the sunlight
preserves each future remembered.
- 6.
- Hoary promises
preface this outline of limbo,
- this inventory of
intervals amid the chaos of
- constant doubt,
cursed to crave comprehension
- of the logic of
decline, to make the present clear.
- You, in due time,
wrap reticence in allusion.
- I, like you, avoid
greeting the morning grey,
- as if any excuse
for going, however slight, will
- prevent intent
from being the sacrifice I make.
- 7.
- Yet, the rest of
this delusion recurs and is there
- in the way your
choosing will become affliction.
- To ask meaning,
however vapid, achieves little
- in shadowing, in
shattering the whole you deny.
- You betray decay
in starting upon life utterly
- blank, tainting
any motive, as though burying
- the tincture of
conviction. Still, bloodless from
- circumstances, I
find I’ve come to where you hope.
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