Meditations on Longing for Sleep

Oh Morpheus!
Why dost thou, King,
mock me so!
Your ever faithful prince,
with fabled curls of raven hue
and full of all mist,
evanescent, that rises
from your ancient,
far reaching yet distant
seas.
You find your rest
so easily,
in even dens of
thorns and weeds and
dried, dead leaves
wherewith only mind
to dream
you may make descend
your ebony bed
and steal away
all consciousness, except
a reality so heavenly,
the likes of which,
on Earth,
were never met

Reflections on loss

It takes a sober day
to wake up within me
consciousness. Walking down
common roads to recollect
those fractured moments
shared with you,
and the lost sentences I read.
I consider the joys
that you felt and did not
feel with me.
I do not curse
my forgiveness- I am
grateful not to live
in antipathy.
I am grateful for all
the splendid things
you gave to me, and
I yearn to love your growing,
your changing, your becoming-
though it pains me
to let you go.
So I must-
that you might learn
to love, and share and give
again to others,
so much more,
the less of I.
                                                                             *

I find myself condemned
to repeat circuitous motions
that resonate only with
heartache. And the cold tomb
of the unthinking dead does not seem
so grave, when compared
to my mirthless solitude:
shaking with every breath
that life should go on,
unceasing, though the extension
of my form
sees little in a life
that is not lived
for loving you...

Nocturne

Time is unbound-
in an instant, I see before me
all of my memories;
cherished and stowed away,
contained to be saved
from cruel, inevitable
deterioration.

The amphitheatre is before me-
the symphony plays
one last, slow song
so the lovers may hold tight-
steadfast within the walls
of what is now
their only life together.

I see such memories
simultaneously
and breathe in the bliss
of seasons and years-
of fresh grass and
cold snow; the polluted
the pastoral- it matters not
but that it was
and still bears the token
of love.

Such love as fills
all things and makes us
wonder not why we don't see it
until it is broken,
for it lives so close
to us, its cherished vows
go unspoken.

Here,
in this space of my mind,
where only you belong,
I see you full
though fragile
and realise
that I owe you yet
so much tenderness.

In love with Love, itself

Ophelia!
...Amelia!
Amour!
I know you not
but love you so,
my mind; it wanders
to your shores,
and sodden,
collapses at your door.
The earth is trodden
until my feet are raw-
you elude me still,
though my spirit soars
and for every time
I sigh your name,
like an incantation,
my breath escapes
and lingers on your lore;
a history, rich,
that leaves me broken,
tired, Restless. Poor...
I miss you, yet
I'm ever enamoured
and love you more
and more,
and more...

A Haiku

On a certain social media site that I seldom frequent I had seen that the Haiku was a current popular form that people were enthusiastically trying for themselves. I rarely dabbled with them, myself, but hold an appreciation for them, nonetheless. In like spirit, I wrote a couple, here's one just for you.

In time, I began
To see that life was not what
I thought it had been

A few things once forgotten

I'd been searching through some files and things, writing here and there, and wrote up again, in format anew, a selection of smaller pieces that had been typed in haste into my handheld phone, and since (until now) discarded. Some are humorous, some desperate. Take it as you will.
Prepare for a medley.

Torn apart by so many things,
Gripped and ripped
By Frenzy.
To covetousness I did give in
and committed crimes-
and crimes against me.
Treachery, Lechery,
A din that riles and ails me.
And miserly, I kept them kin
Though a mutinous bunch
That would seal my ending.
In stagnancy, I did stagnate
A worm
Fit for the heaven offending
To let loose their wroth
And fury upon
Such subjects; of punishment
Commending.

                                                                                   *

What is a dick
but a funny thing-
Something that sticks
out and in:
A (quick) prick,
and that is it.

                                                                                    *

Die,
or go forward;
wage destined wars
so you might live again.
For life, love and laughter.
"For unknown drugs and pleasures,
and a distant star called HOME" - (Final lines courtesy of W. Burroughs)

                                                                                    *

One must remember
You can never make your
Magnum Opus
Twice

Untitled entry

I've been dealing with sickness and suffering this week. It's left me mostly bed-bound; a retching mess, poor in nutrition and health, creativity and experiences.
Today I picked up my pen again for the first day in a little while and, like a convulsion, the writing poured forth. I'm still addled with confusion, mostly caused by my own poor sense, slightly sick with a delicate palate and slowly growing resolute that I will never clear my amounting debts and never make up my mind.
I'm too tired right now to think of a title. Here is something for you.

Ruptured with innocent
admiration and love, I
choose to lie around you
alike the other girls do I-
my arms a living belt
around your waist, my kiss
upon your cheek in place
of a blusher, and silently,
as if unknowingly,
you carry on as I burden
the weight of my affections upon you
like the pest you make
me feel I am. I become
an ant scuttling on
the hand of a tyrant
just waiting to be noticed
... and I'm crushed more
painfully by your oblivious
nature than by your palm.
   I see now how I
mistreat those others
and wonder who it is
that you would rather
crawl upon

Molière

It is for you I live;
that my vacant self
be filled
by the love
you give
and here, trace
a steady path
unto my heart, my mind
and my soul,
that you light with
profound touch,
for you reach me
so deeply.