life

in the morning, before the doubt,

before the poison, anything

is possible, the world is bright

and new, fresh and alive,

but then, like the morning,

it is gone, as reality sets in;

I wait outside her domain,

like a dog in heat,

I listen to her voice

pounding within,

like ocean waves

on a dark angry night,

she holds me in arms

of shifting winds,

without shape or form;

life is full of wasted time,

wide open spaces and moments

in-between, long, drawn out hours

of insufferable boredom,

highlighted by seconds of

indescribable pleasure;

life is a never ending orgasm,

working and struggling,

building and rising,

working for just one

short burst,

one quick release;

I want a place to hide,

a shelter from the storm,

safety in the wilderness,

a home within the night;.

what words can be said for this?

what salvation, what mercy,

what redemption?

there are places where hope

does not walk, places where love

has no home, where light

does not shine, truth does not speak,

down here words fail,

seasons become blurred;

is it wrong to give up?

is it wrong to let go?

we come so close,

reaching and touching,

knowing and seeing,

hearing and feeling,

so close, yet so impossibly far,

flowing like underground rivers,

hidden, alone;

silent;

fires burn bright, stars blaze

through the night,

yet it is only the shadows

we see, moving through rising tides,

surviving extravagant excess,

hiding among the corners,

day after day we wait,

as miles become like dead stones,

wrapped around the necks

of fools and lovers,

hour by hour we survive,

selling flesh inch by inch,

smiling at reflections in the dust,

crumbling before the edges,

with nothing in return.

.

.