When at first our eyes do meet,
Will we feel at once complete?
Of the dreams that we have sought,
Shall reality cinch the knot?
Will my trembling legs support
All the nights of sweet rapport?
And will a sigh of, 'Finally...'
Escape as you're embracing me?
Or will my lips be silenced yet
By the simple phrase, 'My pet...'?
Are my reveries impure?
Given time, will they mature?
Will I learn that life contrasts
With simple pleasures from the past?
withered
tethered sinews breeding
indentations of sunset hues
bound and battered
ragged rasp
exiting in a silent scream
the spirit is broken
She is perched above perpetual silence,
He is sailing, his vessel not quite swift enough,
And he is falling in love with her all over again
The salty sting of mistakes somehow comforting her.
In one hand, she holds the instrument of redemption,
Clutching it as she would a mighty sword.
In the other, she holds a thousand worthless words.
His prayers not quite loud enough, being absorbed as they are
By his intensity, his resolve flailing and failing him.
She is turning now, twisting her reason to fit this fanciful moment.
He is joyous, misinterpreting her agony for something else.
Just as she falls into the arms of the sea.
medicated madness
so she memorialises him
and if the holiday of his departure
then let us all celebrate the passing
has her believing the apathetic apothegm
which somehow connects sight with
the elusive, retentive faculties of the mind
by way of emulation
and speculation
and erosion of self
finds her commemorating
in the ever-increasingly dark
shadows of her consciousness
of reason and sobriety
to a much safer delirium
The emptiness belies the life which once filled her
She will always be a part of her
Yet she is all around her now, The Little One
More deeply embedded than her pain
Caressing her face long after her tears
Embracing her with light amidst the darkness
Always be the love of her existence
~~~for D.A./D.V.~~~
Closer to alone
tempts her into seclusion.
A vow of silence
makes it easier to simmer,
cooking her hatred
until it no longer bleeds,
forming a crisp outer shell
which surrounds
the tender fear inside.
Determine my breath
prepare my heart
to beat again
for you own my instincts
and if a shadow should cross your brow
then darkness will surely summon
fetching me from slumber
if necessary
It has naught to do with this Moon
This momentary shifting of realms
This twilight bidding farewell to dusk
Nor thy vocal caress preying upon mine Universe
Recognizes only that which is reflected
In the shimmering cross hairs of thine eyes
She's formulated an explanation
For her exploits, her dirty deeds,
A reasoning of ringless fingers and clear consciences,
Of lost passion and what might have been,
Not wasting too much time on his feelings.
No, that just wouldn't do.
I didn't want this,
Nor did I,
Fingers entwined,
I want you,
he said, passion spent transiently,
retrieving his breath with a sigh.
said she, her eyes seeking solace
in the cradle of incredulity.
a familiar comfort gave voice,
drowning dismay in their fluids...
simultaneously spoken, blood rushing to full lips
before being consumed by his thirst.
'Keep in touch, drop a note.'
'We'll gather and giggle and cry for a bit,
'I assure you I'll search if we should part.
Reality isn't of promises made.
Yet if once upon a time,
Know that I will recall this bliss,
'I'll buy you a lager, and we will emote.'
and then we'll move on whilst lanterns are lit.'
Truly, I mean it...crossing my heart.'
Passions lose lustre, memories fade.
your lips should paint a smile sublime,
as well, from the depths of my mind's abyss....
The drought had been established;
Starting over seemed senseless,
The dust coated the skin,
But it rained today.
all that remained were the last,
feeble attempts at restoration
by whatever means necessary.
as there was nothing to salvage,
no seeds of hope
to sow in the arid fields,
which only two seasons ago flourished
under the watchful eye
of the thick river.
protection of sorts from the burning,
white, superfluous sun,
the air ponderously silent,
the taste of regret
weighing on the tongue...
When it's over,
Mapping out conversations
Loneliness,
She will function,
and perhaps she will decline,
and one day, it will be over,
she will miss the radiance
of freshly tortured flesh,
the synchronicity
of minds and flavours,
of conspiratorial hearts
and covetous kinship...
will prove to be difficult
after years of wordless dialogue
and silent hearkenings.
although familiar,
she will exquisitely postpone
with the generosity of denial.
true to form and reliable,
and soon enough,
a successor will request
another dance...or two...
preferring a slow dance
over another slow burn...
It must be an awesome burden
I can hear it in the tremor of your voice
While I, merely the 'mother' of a child to which
merely a residential accountant
merely a comfort during the bad times,
Stand by and quietly plan my escape
in a boat without oars.
to be the more powerful of we two.
every time you threaten eviction.
I didn't give birth,
who gets the bills paid,
'the best thing that ever happened' to you during the good,
Alas, you are here!
Your wit intensely captivating.
Holding on for dear life.
Ah, so it's come to this.
And to think just moments ago,
We were blazing our own paths, careening
...go slow...
My smile lingers, trusting, aware.
Mingling, tingling...What if I touched you there
...and there...
Sometimes rapid, sometimes tranquil, this river.
Marked change in scenery, familiar landmarks
...intimate tremor...
Painful eruptions, such intensity I've never known.
Resentment, bitterness, no turning back
...I then, alone...
Tho' my grief lies mainly with
And tho' a lifetime of remorse
Tho' your mind is agonised
You were my friend before the sin;
the passing of your honour,
and tho' her thighs, spread milky white,
bid you to lie upon her,
will contradict one instant,
and pleasure you find worthy now
may prove to be far distant,
by the writhing serpent,
I cry with you and mourn the loss
of seasons better spent.
yesterday was grand.
My trust will keep another day;
today, I'll hold your hand.
I guess I thought about it
Looking back, it does make sense.
It crossed my mind today,
While waiting, as I tend to do.
But the moment passed with a sigh,
By and by.
At least you're happy now
Which is all I ever wanted.
~Still haunted~
But he was here, and she was there.
It crossed my mind the day before
But nevermore.
O wicked Father,
I would gladly sell the rest
Lest you find I abuse my fate,
Demure be lips that feel no pain.
I remain......
Have you not taken o'er half I have to give?
If not twice as much, surely...
If offered quarter-best.
Let us swill and contemplate...
Debate the journey of life impure,
And three more pints we'll both endure.
Kiss me, Time, else be my bane.
He still does that thing
Without endeavouring,
A year and a fortnight
Which illuminates her soul
And casts a shadow upon her trepidation.
He has accomplished
All that she envisioned in her wildest reveries.
Have come and gone in an instant,
Yet he remains the conductor of her heart and her every intensity.
Seek counsel from thy tempest
Fair sweet be nevermore.
whilst ye lay the blame on Luck.
Storm and rage and spew ye brine
'til ye witness runs amuck.
And when ye gale has blown itself
far down yonder shore,
seek not here ye counsel, Beloved...
What do I want?
The gray can be camouflaged,
....I would wish to be worthy of you....
Oh, don't tempt me, Luv.
How about a half dozen years' credit
to be applied toward my lack of interest?
Forget all I've learned...
...Ignorance is priceless, after all.
but how might I disguise the coldness in my eyes?
Daily soft contacts with you, to be sure.
And this quick temper which once was buried
under smiles and laughter?
Time to start excavating, Beloved...
And so you've gone to where you must
The season would be better still
Kindred though he's been to me
spilling sanity
whether bidden or thrust
One can only mourn so much
One supposes such
sans this acrid pill
'If' weighs heavy on the mind
and tends to blind
this turbulent sea
requests we mourn in seclusion
wrapped in delusion
Her expatriate heart
No longer does she imagine her life
A visionary at best,
belongs to another now.
being spent behind the bars of freedom,
looking beyond to the rumbling, imprisoned
savannahs of home,
where her soul would dance in the valley's mist,
released from a catered existence.
optimistic she prefers,
for she will return to the country
that bore her spirit
so long ago
to taste the salt of joy
while breathing Zim.
Breathing Zim, a work in progress.
*All poems are the sole property of B. Rudolph.*