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Quandary of life
@uootem
this man... is who I have become
a poet... with hoard of words
written throughout time... perhaps without sagacity
just a futile attempt to gasp for breath... in a sigh
as I suffocate in air... lighter than the spirit within
and 'tis my destiny... a place not of this world
but of other worlds... where thoughts are things and
where insatiable hope is all that resides in the heart.
I now understand my lethal mistake of long ago
not seeing my fate in the questions that youth did ask,
acknowledging only the unfounded fear
resisting that ultimate surrender to unfamiliar emotions
that I believed would surely rend me heartbroken...
And while didactic discourses danced in my mind like ballerinas;
with no shoes and no music... for the silence is not relieved by reason
I once pursued only unreasoned answers
whose predilections were explicit and vulgar....
my yearnings carved away by short term gratification,
of exposed breasts and naked legs of tidy illation,
lipstick smudges left on collars and broken plastic wine glasses,
kiss prints of lipsticks and perfumes
on envelopes mailed with no return address,
for none would be needed tomorrow... since I would easily forget
those moments that could not possibly matter in the grand scheme.
In that season, dear and sweet first love... abandoned in momentary diversion
in a fit of capriciousness... but alas, true love is not easily forgotten
and now writing serves as sacred remembrance
for I dare not defile those treasured souvenirs of life
by conjuring false hope - of the lastingness of promises broken
instead these form the sumptuousness of a moment now gone
as if the present had forgotten my yearnings... until now.
My dreams now bequeath me dizziness...
as I stand in the mist of time
with anticipation... with yearning...
as the desire returns once again to haunt,
though I may never remember it come daylight...
when dreams fade with stars
the knowing glance of a familiar stranger - who pauses to read my ramblings
where within these I revel, I dance unencumbered by explanation,
I write of the emotions,
I celebrate chance encounters,
and savor the euphoria of unforeseen plot twists of happenstance,
with emotions written on scraps of paper as if they were chivalric parchment -
"how can any of this still matter... but how could it not?"
it is the quandary of life...
and I celebrate it all now with my pen.
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