My mind is always trying to talk
my heart out of this madness.
bickering battle between them —
My soul watches — laughing.
These two contrary companions
endlessly scrapping and tussling
like kittens learning to grow up —
Meow! Shriek! Hiss, attack, tumble —
Oh, this joy of mock battle
to be ruler of the kingdom!
You are water flooding into each open crevice;
You are fire and red-flame lava burning me to ash;
You are space, silence, the great wash of wind —
across my body like cool breezes on warm days.
Electrical impulse of cell and synapse —
You are light exploding in every particle of my being —
And I am dying into the invisible storm of You —
And it is the most beautiful place I have ever known.
Dying to Love is the sweetest madness:
One never wishes to come back from that!
I am neck-deep in this wave-water of You.
That, all my life before
I only could stick my toe in –
there was loud-splash and timid-step, You
surging up around my ankles –
or, other times
in the bravest neurotic mad-laced hours,
I would close my eyes and run barreling
into deep-dark-swirling waters up to my waist.
But — Always,
as the sand ripped away beneath my feet,
the dizziness spun and fear gripped me,
out and back to the safety of shore I ran.
no solid ground-safety-land beneath my feet.
Your waves flow-wash-lap at my throat –
Your water forces–kisses-enters my mouth –
I rock-surrender-float, two toes touching bottom,
in this bliss of dissolving into You —
My soul begs You — fill me, immerse me, consume me.
My Mind cannot understand this madness.
My Heart knows insanity in love with the Beloved
is the only way Home.
Like that elegant lily white and tender — soul bared in vulnerability.
We once were tender white-skinned fragile, our tiny souls groping for and gravitating toward all that was fresh and beautiful, unaware of dark clouds drifting toward us, storms and deep-black-rain-caused mud. Streaking, splotching — baby-tender opaque skin — our souls trapped in a place of harsh-red silence covered in deep-dark pain.
We once knew purity and a place before sex, lust, violence, rape. That old white candle flickering inside opaque souls, we held the light tighter with each day passing, terrified always of a time when lights were snuffed out.
Like that elegant lily white and tender — denied water under a harsh orange heat. The slow-burning death — crinkled-black-brown burning, until an almost desiccated-withered brown flower falls, from yellowed-drought-stem to ground. We once were tender white-skinned fragile child-bodies. Bloodied bruised to brown-purple, rag-mouthed crusty blood spilling across dollar store dirty-worn sheets.
We once were like that elegant lily, white and tender souls, and we sang, laughed, cried, survived that slow-burning death, bled-out innocence marking sweated-on, dirt-covered dollar store sheets in a virgin-red smear.
Artwork: Gladis110 at Photobucket can be seen here.