Life

in the morning,

before the doubt,

before the poison,

anything is possible,

the world is bright and new,

fresh and alive,

but then 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

and wide open spaces,

moments in between the

only ones that count,

long drawn out hours

of insufferable boredom,

highlighted by seconds of

indescribable pleasure,

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,

love has no home,

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 we see only shadows,

moving through rising tides,

surviving extravagant excess,

hiding among the corners,

hour by hour we survive,

selling flesh inch by inch,

smiling at reflections in the dust,

miles become like dead stones

wrapped around the necks

of fools and lovers,

crumbling before the edges

with nothing in return.

.

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