Wednesday, October 5, 2011


It’s all a game, a disaster.
Asking for the hand, the woman with no face,
she evades into a thin line of invisibility.

I run in white glassy snow with her in my arms,
she doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe my name,
the world sinks.

The glaze of protection, I want to feel her rain
The skeptical eyes, I want her certainty
I know she’s here, walking under a blue umbrella
Dancing under her secrecy, is it only my lust?
More than this thirst of love and lust, I only
see a man with a burning heart, the lies ache.
Let your hair bleed, let this cape fall, I only
need the truth, the impending certainty.
I mask my identity to save her unsure appeal
She doesn’t shine, doesn’t listen to my yearning,
the garden dries.

It’s all a game, a reminder.
Asking for the heart, the woman with no face,
I fall into a thin line of perversion of lust.  


Brian Miller said...

nice...i feel the longing in your words...and of playing the game and coming up settling for lust in the end...nice...

Cassiopeia Rises said...

Very interesting poem. I can feel the need in your words but am not so sure what you are trying to say. Well written.


Morning said...

life is a game, but it does cost pains and time to learn and grow.

take care.
keep poeticizing.

Anonymous said...

Lovely indeed.... Your poem evokes the understanding of one's own wants, desire..... Art does not need a reason, like love and lust, it simply exists, it just is and we are only witnesses to it. Your quote of the poem from Pablo Neruda, "Poetry Arrived" says that so well... But there is another part of that poem I find especially revealing about this gift we share:

"and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
and open...."

And from that moment, from that birth of passion, life takes on new meaning......

I find nothing of perversion in your poem. My only suggestion is to change that word to "Wonder," both in the title and the last line.