Ink·Heart·Serrations

Ink·Heart·Serrations

She suffers,
& I am useless,
incapable of soothing
her pain,
her profound loss,
her unrelievable grief!

How can she 
grieve
when her Love 
is not dead,
merely trapped
in a dungeon—
his own devise—
his demise
a concoction of poor choices,
arrogance & ego,
deep insecurity
masked as toxic
machismo?

Her Love is undead,
the great black wight,
barely a whisper
haunting
the collapsing
hallways of her heart,
& I can only bear
witness 
because I must hide
my own love, lest
in my selfish want
of her she feels 
smothered,
deprived 
of the space 
she needs to mourn.

¿What, because I dream
of my every morning
dawning with her 
in silhouette,
a shadow
against every
subversive sunrise?

& so we all suffer,
all of our hearts
incarcerated—
his imprisoned
within walls
of iron & concrete,
hers imprisoned
under the weight
of loss & absence,
mine behind
a loneliness
only she can cure 
& a foreboding fear
of losing her
forever—
all held 
in solitary,
confined
to the empty 
wastelands of our souls,
where hope 
can only be measured
by the pinpricks
of light that linger:
the imperfect promises
of love deferred. 

Tenacity

Tenacity

The World is dying
around us as we risk
Contagion, while I pull
her destiny from my deck.
"You're future is up
to you Jewels;” I say,
“you know
what you've done—
laid the groundwork,
built the foundation,
all driven
by the power
of unfulfilled lust,
laced with pure wit,
undying persistence,
& mad perspicacity!"

There is no rod,
no staff to comfort her;
she must rise, alone,
to meet the challenge,
& she leaves me awed
in her renewed glow,
a shine so bright
I can't even look at her
directly, I can only cast
askance glances,
because she is everything
I want, but nothing
I can have.

She wants a warrior,
& I am but a simple poet—
The Fool, falling again,
yet again, never caring,
knowing it never matters
how far I fall, I always land
on my feet. I make words,
not wars, but her soldier
is POWed, a prisoner
of poor states
& even poorer
circumstances.

But when The World
is dying, when destiny
is threatened by fate
& folly, exceptions
must be made. So
we end up naked
on her sleigh,
ready to face
The End
together.

The End,
with rules:
I cannot touch
The Jewels;
I do not need to;
her presence is enough.
It's enough to feel her
firmly tucked into my nook,
enough to feel her feel
secure enough to sleep
there soundly.

Where there is enough Love,
nothing else matters.

The End
is all in our heads,
but sometimes
you have to pretend—
Nothing's ever over,
but Death is still a diva
when she's striking down
en masse,
when she's put The World
on blast,
when you have everything
to lose, but no one
to lose it with.

So, in the end,
I end up alone,
lounging
on my orange throne,
listening to The World
dying on every channel,
haunted
by faint memories,
echoes of our time
together, ghosts
of what may have been,
had Jewels preferred poets
to warriors,
Lovers to fighters,
Truth to power.

She holds all
the power she needs,
after all. Perhaps,
once Jewels can see
the potency
of her own shine,
she will allow me
the honor
of being consumed,
utterly devoured,
by her glorious light!

I Do Not Need & The Fall

I Do Not Need 

I do not need to kiss you,
hold you, fuck you.
I don't even need to touch you.
I only need you close
enough to smell that sweet
scent that reignites
the fire that has consumed
me during your absence.

The Fall

I am a leaf—goldredbrown
Drifting down,
Fluttering around
Until I hit
The ground
where I will lie
Until I dessicate,
Whither & dry.

I will become hard,
Brittle, resisting the Earth
That is calling me
Until the sky cries,
Her grace crowning me
King, & I swell
Full of just enough
Life to accept
My fate.