How can I not hear you, how can I not
HEAR
when every molecule of my being seen and unseen
aligns to you?
All the filaments of my soul,
all the particles of my bone,
all the partitions of my heart,
and all the meanderings of my mind, all my
impassioned, whispered, wandering imaginings, feverish hopes and faith,
love. Love? Love!
.
Oh, my love, my sweet, sweet L o v e I am magnetised,
every capillary ruled and underlined by compassed truth.
I am shattered to splintery shreds and all
ache, all heave north-west,
every instinct frays and fights and
refuses
utterly, utterly rejects
all else
but you.
Were I blind, I would still see
holily enhaloed
etched in agitated light, the path, the Path,
the P A T H .................................
..............the road,
the channel,
the passage,
the tunnel,
the bridge,
the W a y
that leads
ever
to you.
.
I am storm-blown
doomed to break up on shore yet though
whelming whorls and surging vortices scheme to engulf me,
threaten with wrecked-rackage, still,
I am help-hope-lessly haunted,
I persist, I persist, I insist
knowing that rocks razor sea floor,
knowing that corals crave inquisition,
knowing that sharks anticipate flesh,
their meshed teeth gnashing the bloodiest
of glees, yet
I still choose to flee
knowing that harbour resides where you lay,
knowing your arms would dissolve the past, the ugliness
that hangs like the albatross
about my neck, strangling me,
you would lift the curse, cut stinking carcass
free
and I could live at last with the stench of Death removed
from me.
.
I hear whale song, my love,
that saddest and loveliest of leviathan lore,
they implore - steady. Steady. S T E A D Y,
Have we... not
have we not resisted? Persecuted and purged, yet we continue.
Continue
you must too.
.
I stretch up to the bruised moon
someone has blacked her face,
pressed two thumbs into each unhappy eye.
Is there pity
in her pockmarked look? Oh, I have maligned you,
yet, forgive me,
grant me strength,
the strength of inconstant consistency for
I am bound by Lilliputian ties so trifling that were they few,
I would laugh
and sunder their gossamer, haphazardly
but I am wrapped in spidery silk, so smothering,
that I have long ago,
lost consciousness.
.
My throat is husky, my thoughts shiver, despair wavers my sight,
you are my mate,
my complement,
my completion,
and oh, the pain of that realisation,
and oh, the agony of separation,
and oh, the cruelty that says it must be borne.
.
The stars are shining
.
but I see nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Borealis Love
PoetryLove - what does that word mean, what does it comprise? Do we always recognise it when faced with it? Do we value it when we ought to do so? Do we squander it when it is too easily given? Do we ever understand until it has left us and we are left to...
