In These Moments Of Writing
02/15 2021
I
Rowdy evening canceled out
By empty smells pouring in from the window:
She tied up her heart about his feet,
Those dirty scraps and so full of fears
She grabbed his face between her hands
And echoed the notes of time
That resumes, after an ocean of waiting.
But never would he wake up
He could only doze off
To 'La vie en rose'
--- Momentarily ---
He flickered against his reflection
In her eyes, in her tears
Just so empty, except for the fear
Then as morning awoke once again
And death, as usual, clasped the pen
Pouring black ink onto the page
He, remembering the reflection,
Wrote of memories as the dead
The sparrows hardly understood,
Sitting along his bed's edge.
II
Sometimes you have reminiscence
Of those thoughts from dark crevices
Who can ever forget those nocturnal smells?
Or those cries of hysteria pounding
From those booths of damp souls
You sway in the wind to obtain the key
For an evening of aimless dreaming
For how softly we tread on alone
On that hard, crumbling stone
When nothing to us is offered
Except the maps to the unknown
We whisper those dying breaths
In some inane, desperate attempt to say
That we were never once afraid.
Like so the memory comes and goes
Through distant possibilities
Through close-by fears
Through cold-air nights
Through warm & sunny days
Through them all a haze of smoke & beer
Like so the memory comes and goes through purgatory
And then under candlelight
Rambling of where she died and how
You burn brighter than your silence;
Of course! I shouldn't have to say so:
But shortly after you die ---
The silence in heaven does not abide, it shouts.
I observe you, I am obsessed with myself
III
Now I stand alone however,
Held only by my weathered name,
Recognizing that the weight we carry;
Empty dreams, empty memories
And empty picture frames;
Always has been, and always will remain
Love, and only love.
For who can deny that waiting?
It will return, no matter how ill at ease.
You may to yourself write a paper
About all the masquerades,
But you'll hear the distant drum calling
From one hopeful look from across the room.
The world revolves around such moments
I wiped my mouth from some suds
As I looked across the crowded hall
My heart renewed her memory
As she met my eyes and walked over ---
Smiled, a little bit fuzzy I admit
Yet undeniably certain in a way
In regards to the moon coming in from the window
Later, leaning against wall on floor
Quiet dancing around who's turn it was to approach
--- Us who occupy life's various corners
We who find the twisted apple branch
Among angels roaming summery avenues alone ---
This remains how I think when time stands still,
As she lowers herself down to me on the floor.
Suddenly I am awakened by a bang
And the ultimate secret withers away
And so I continue on with that day,
I'm tired of wondering what it is, still I persist
Yet still a face, a smile, nothing more remains
But that is not true, and I know so;
It is everything: a face, a smile --- and nothing more.
(In these moments of writing, have you forgotten? When I think back on the moment as I sit here with my pen, will they be dreams or will they be real? What ideas, then, will remain?)