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writing:Forgetting: Through the Moments - I stared as always into the water, finding subtlety in its obstinacy and fear beneath its waves, watching as the tide threatened to overwhelm the moon as though it were the element of ink surrendering to its reflection with the weakness of a dying woman's grasp. And of all the moments, execration collided with the redeeming man -- and her beauty engulfed itself. I watched, but I could not hear her conflicts
nor when she spoke of lamb hunting lion.I cried to shelter my secrets within her recesses,to become new again, leaving my sins
to dissipate in the desolation between worlds. But even this world is damned, and my words, as the escape, are swallowed whole by the skies and lost. Never to be spoken again; leaving my anatomy bare to catch fire and listen to my sentiments. I stared as always into the water, finding peace in its obstinacy and regret beneath its waves, watching as the overhead trees stretched their limbs skyward, craving alms of the earth and presiding as the obstructer of ease and imagination; This was the birthplace
of when love and lie clashed to form humanity -- where I had once heard the winds' psalms as it mingled with my bitter countenance. I watched, but I did not remember when I sought to interpret the language of the soul, finding the confidence to sustain my growing dementia. And I cried, to shelter my secrets within the howling wind, the dying moon, the parched earth and her blessed recesses; But even this world was damned, And the water eats at the soft-spoken fragility of my confessions. I watched, as always, but could bear no more -- and of all the moments, reality collided with novelty, engulfing the beauty and my sentiments and leaving them, forgotten in the sand.
Forbearance - Forbearance was the name they gave you
when they reached to the sky seeking audacity,
seeking solace and power and belonging and
reaching for a world outside their own to find
the grinning pale-faced moon in limbo,
whom I had thought to be
cradling the euphotic sea
as I tried to gather the sands from the shoreline,
afraid that the tide would swallow them.
Forbearance was the name they gave you
before you fell face-down in Vietnamese soil,
before you became the gun-shy fool who couldn't pull
the trigger. You are the lost child,
the virulent Picasso
who I had turned to to light
those aphotic places even the moon's phosphorescence
had forgotten.
Forbearance was the name they gave you
as you stood waiting, growing old among weeds;
the rose I could no longer tend to,
and you only wilted in the field. You are not
the name you used to be,
and your future begins to dim, soon
to burn out like a street light in a city that never sees
the sun.
Forbearance was the name they gave you,
when that world was alive,
when we were both young and time
had not yet eroded us.
And now the sun is in euphoria,
resting with the promises of Alcmene,
now has vanished the brimming moon,
now the sea shrieks out of tune
like an infant torn from its mother's grasp.
Forbearance was the name they gave you,
but you are not who
you used to be.
You have become a part of your own distant world,
the old widow drinking sherry and inhaling cigar smoke,
filling your lungs with translucent hope
and dying among the weeds.
Art:
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and it's on my profile as a link like yours but just placed differently