13:41 Mar 31 2006
Times Read: 786
Once, I thought I had seen my last sunset,
I watched the reflections of light dancing,
Above a smiling face- A warm embrace,
Comforting the ache,
Of my heart breaking- For my own forsaking,
And the tears flowed.
Weeping outside as well as in,
I knew love had been torn from my grasp,
By a greedy desire for more than I deserved,
Succumbing to the lust,
I made another heart break,
Yet here before me,
Her heart is whole once more and my own,
It feels such a terrible ache.
How to refrain from casting off all that is worth to me,
Why shed this glorious coat,
Luxuriant in feeling,
When the summer light may be replaced by the harsh winter wind?
I sobbed that day,
Not knowing whether my pain was real,
Nor knowing either if it might end,
But I know now that it can never end,
For the sufference which is our lives,
Our being in this universe,
Is all that is truly eternal about us.
Ever passing on,
Moving forth in time,
Leaves us a trail of anguish,
With broken and bloodied feet,
We stumble onward through life-time after death-time,
After life again and again,
We seek completeness and oneness,
Yet finding only seperation through individuality.
Lacking the duality of attachment,
We come to one another to find our match,
The soul which might fill the growing chasmic void,
Wanting a taste of the fortuitous blend,
Bringing forth all the needs and desires,
Fulfilling them with the greatest satisfaction,
We make our casual way through existence in this forlorn search,
Hoping that one day- that this time,
Its the real thing.
This is something which I felt last summer, before I opened myself up, for one last roll of the dice.
12:26 Mar 14 2006
Times Read: 801
A blade folded upon a thousand deceits,
Keenly honed with silky lies,
A poison edge dripping with malice,
It's glint wicked,
Letting the blood for the chalice.
Whereupon I stand in the shade,
A whispering comes to me,
Distant and vague,
Never the less it sounds to me,
As clear a warning as the moans of those plagued.
Why do I suffer it?
To know trust,
To play the political game,
Secrets and half-truths,
My strategy, I fear, is lame.
I'm straight to the point,
But not with this dagger I handed over,
I wait for it's swift puncture,
Wondering who will bring forth their hand,
I'm beginning to lose hope at this juncture.
Will I see the eyes,
Of honourable death?
Or will it strike for the darkness,
Slashing into my back,
Reeking with foulnesss?
My epitaph should read well,
Perhaps also my obituary,
Though the thoughts I did dwell,
Will tell of my failing habitually,
I must realise that this is all just paranoid hell.
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