PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

MAY  27,  1993

(mon c., where were you?)





writing, writing, writing,

on into the night,

as the coach rolled and racketted

on its way into the deep,

dark, dank, blank tunnel

of Time

ahead of it.



Words came, suddenly,

like night-dove-flashes

in the lanternlights of the carriage.

Words flew like that

from his pen.

Like night-dove-flashes

as they flew, frightened

by the horses and the carriage's passage.

A flurry, blurry comet-like flight,

straight up out of sleep.

Is this the way doves escape

their attackers?



("As peaceful as doves..."

the Scripture said.

"As wise as snakes...

the Scripture said.

There is only one animal

which has the ability to be

two other animals:  Man.

So often man is as

wise

as  a  dove,

and as

peaceful

as a serpent!)



Writing, writing, writing,

on, on, deeper and deeper

into the night.

His letters smudged

and ran together into words,

but words that had no meaning,

yet were as important

to his existence;

were as serious

as the very meanings of

LIFE  and  DEATH.

He did not know to whom he was writing,

but the importance was in the writing,

NOT in the reading.

for possibly NO-ONE

would ever know.



Even though it was deadly serious,

his words seemed to be as intelligble

as the speech of a deranged inebriate.

Yet, he  HAD   to finish this missive!

And he  HAD  to hand it to lone rider

accompanying him, alongside this coach.



Some ride, some are carried, some walk;

but  ALL   have the same Destination.



It is in the intercourse along the Way

that Meaning comes to us.  (Fifteen years

apart, separated by time, but not in souls.)

[[this phrases is new, as you may guess, m.c.]]

He  HAD  to know that his letter would reach

the Ville du Mort before dawn rose (heh-heh)

before sunrise, before cock's-call, before

morning-bell rang.  Before the village awoke.





If it did not, then the only person

who had ever unashamedly confessed

a Love-to-the-death would die

before he could kiss her, for the first time,

and make known to her the Truth

which had redeemed his life:

they had been destined for each other.

Deux Enfants du Paradis;

and they were the  ONLY  two

to have ever reached Paradis

and yet returned to earth from There.

Now desperately wanting to return There,

to go back together

(to grow back-together)

and to the Place where their soul

had been divided into two,

female and male,

and sent on this terrestrial quest

for their True Companionship.

A desire for reunion so strong,

that not even life, or lives,

could be allowed to stand in the way.

But, if life  HAD  to be sacrificed

to ensure the return trip,

then the two lives they

had been given

to inhabit

HAD  to stop, TOGETHER,

to culminate and then climax

while their eyes were transfixed

on

each

other.





Riding, riding, riding,

he went on, with the almostgibberish

words that were forming in him.

His pen seemed to be

the very Apex of his heart,

and with an ink that would never dry;

The Beings that his words

nourished as their blood

were as dank as mold,

as decayed as Tut.

There they lay,

in their six-sided room,

with no way out at all.

The only thing keeping Hope alive in him

was the memory of what she had been to him

before The Separation:

what she saw in him,

what she knew in him,

what she loved in him,

was her self in him;

and he  HAD  to reunite

himself with herself,

before Dawn Rose:

the first and only Dawn

of Eternity. (heh-heh)





IN JOY WE FIND THAT THE GREATEST CRIME OF ALL IS IN NOT LOVING;  ESPECIALLY WHEN WE DISCOVERE THAT THE   O N L Y   TRUE AND LOGICAL ACT OF SERVICE TO GOD, IS TO LOVE.



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THAT   was   MANIC ;      THIS   IS   DEPRESSIVE:



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trapped behind too many doors for me to ever know which one to go to and open to begin my escape  imprisoned inside so many dreams that i don't know at any time if im asleep or awake or dreaming that im awake or dreaming that im asleep or imagining that im dreaming that im imagining im dreaming......

bound up by too many oaths too many secrets from myself of myself i dont know which to keep or which to break      lost       adrift        alone        allapart       the only decision i will have to make is "WHEN" to depart     i know how        when ive decided it i want you to know that your smile was the last thing remaining alive passing through all this sadness of my brain before it exploded     my exploding brain disperses little parts of your smile all over my room     somehow it seems i got put together with one little part put in sideaways and one other little part left outside and forgottenabout       i am broken and its not your fault and noone elses and o god its not  MY  fault too      i wish id had more courage and hda taken the time to talk about my lost pieces and maybe found out who had them or wjere to dinf them    somethinf might have helped    i was never a waste of time i think i hope too   you did try to put me back together once a time or two that is why im still here     but i couldnt      or wouldnt     then you stopped listening i could tell because you talked about nonstuff that which didnt help me or couldnt keep it from going worse      i knew when you stopped caring     Smile at our sweet memories!  Do not try to find or to place blame on any-one.  I smell like I am a mad-rose, or some other kind of rose that by anyothernamewouldsmellassweet, but the name would stink, then, not the rose.  It took Vincent three more days to die.  I'm a much better shot than he.  Gentle, quiet Vincent; it was a full moon.  Gentle, quiet, smile; gentle quiet dream.G,Q death

        You are everything to me; then, now, during, after

        Lovely,  lithe,  light,  lilting, lover's-laughter

        Ultimate lover,  ultimate-lover, good-b'ye, g'b'ye!

                  Good B'ye,    good-b'ye.

                        bang