Youth as A State of Mind.
“Only by taking yearning to its mortal limit can youth be wholly known.”
—R.H.
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“Only by taking yearning to its mortal limit can youth be wholly known.”
—R.H.
There is no Pill
Or Beverage
That can fix
It
All—
One can run,
Into the open,
Escape the slaving dungeon,
But darkness
Follows, and condenses
Wherever He should
Lay to Rest—
One can forever
Run,
Only to realize
A Life’s Time
Is not enough
To hide.
So Young one,
You and your
Unspent Beauty,
Take to the Strenuous strides;
Learn to work
In darkness,
But resting in Light.
Have drunken
So Much
Coffee—
Black, White,
Creme filled,
Sugar loaded,
Or Chilled;
Even three days
Old—
That Coffee
Hated you?
Don’t you know,
Dear one,
Need
There is not
to lie.
Little do you
Know—
Or much do you
Forget—
The Silence
Knows
All
Yet says
Nothing at
All
About your
lies.
You were told
To close your eyes,
So you do–
Without suspicion,
Eye-lids
Shut
In an automatous,
Curious flutter–
Then,
A miniature
Bouquet
Lay
Beautifully
Delicate
In your hands.
Fresh, delightful,
And fragile–
Too good
Were they, for
Your more wicked
Self cringed
At their sight–
Exuding a new gleam
In that cold night,
In your hands
A gentle cradle
of Love and Joy;
Some of which
You still
Cannot understand–
Like a sound
Of Redeeming
Purity
Amidst a fallen
Mecca-full
Of deafened
Drums.
A dose of sweet medicine,
Leaving you blessed and terrified—
Were you sick
Before,
And were you
Only then,
Upon inhaling Innocence
And Scent,
Finally beginning to,
Through
Great Effort,
Wakened from an
Ageless Neglect,
Overcome
Your Fatal
Illness,
And become Well
To and for all
Once again?
The Rain clouds
Had come down
And washed
The Dirt
Away—
It got cool,
Wet, and Gray
For a while,
The air anew;
Once more
Un-stifiling—
A Revival Breeze.
Then the Sun
Peeked out,
And slowly
Brought the Sky
Back to day;
Its
Late afternoon
Brilliance shone
Gentle yet luminous,
Tranquilized
By the impossible,
Afterward caressing
Of the Rain.
Though
In great pain,
I was Happy
To Live
That day.
“Dark is a way and light is a place,
Heaven that never was
Nor will be ever is always true.”
—–Dylan Thomas.
Let us love again,
And relive each other
This time,
As one matchstick
Gradually kindles another—
Such as yours—
For two simultaneous
Flames burning
Too close as one,
And too often,
Procures a radiance
Too headstrong
To perpetuate
And to prolong—
Why not let us ignite
Much of our
Unconsumed Love,
Starting only from
One end,
From one torch
At a time, and
Delivering each one
To the next, and
Unto the other—
Only sharing Fires
When the darkness
Gets too strong.
Hold our affection
In Savored rations,
And by embracing
The in-between
Unknowns,
We cultivate slowly
A unbreakable bond
Then,
Then when our flames
Finally ebb
To the Ashes,
Crisp, fine,
And well done,
Buried
Underneath
Will be
A story of Love
That stood
Life long
Against the cruel
Hands
Of Time.
I know that the night
Brings you down
On your knife,
But it’s all right—
Darling it’s no crime.
Better yourself,
Know that got lost
You shalt,
But it’s all good—
Darling it’s no crime.
—Hands In the Garden
After great pain, a formal feeling comes–
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs;
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round–
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought,
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone–
This is the Hour of Lead–
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow–
First–Chill–then Stupor, then the letting go.
—After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes, Emily Dickinson.
Particular Moments 