Tough Love

“When someone is hard on you it may have very little to do with you.”
Bryant McGill

Tough Love
Steven Klein

Torrents of disparagement spoil little comforts that came in the soft hands of a woman. In hidden gifts her bounty is made known to searching eyes. Holding nothing but feeling everything, imagination ignites passion’s blaze in the deep recesses of cold homes. With no names and no kisses, a sole burning heat sears lust’s consummation of the unholy matrimony. Were there rings one could understand, were there concern, one could live peaceably, but in the mix of questions and longings, agonies and danger, love exists only in the breath of heavy sighs. Hardened hearts learn to feel through calloused emotion, tenderness never an option unless it leads to satisfaction of an aching in the loins or the soothing of a searching heart.

A Lesson From Missing You –

“…she has the ability to hide as expertly as a sock in a washing machine. No one knows where it goes, just as no one knows where she goes, but at least when she decides to come back, we’re all here, waiting for her.” – Cecelia Ahern

 

Breathing in and with each rasping dry inhale I’m missing you
It burns down to the hollow of my soul.
Memories they flood in, a confusing mix. I thought I missed just you,
but I miss the many that are a part of me.
Each having a part to play, each having a part in me,
each deserving of my attention.
What will I do with these feelings? I shouldn’t,
long after only you.
I should enjoy the many
that have become a part in my life.
How can I miss only you and leave out the others
who have a part to play?
I must move on, pay my respects, but in the end
I know you’re only a part.
There yet remains a whole to be built from my life,
a whole song, a whole book,
not just a verse, or a chapter.
In this moment, I’ll breath a painful breath that it may give me
a lesson from missing you. 

Also published in Lifeasahuman

Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinionsofeye.com
02172012

 

Good Morning – A royal awakening for a lover –

“I was dead until you found me, though I breathed. I was sightless, though I could see. And then you came…and I was awakened.” ― J.R. Ward, Lover Awakened

Alas, she wakens with breath so sweet that all words long to be formed by her delicious lips. What better way to both live and die than in the mouth of one so delectable…soon I’ll follow them into your caves of pleasure…I find all paths of your perfumed delight leading to home….

I know what will take you from the nether regions of rest my love, I need but spend an hour with your body that responds with eagerness against my flicks of hunger and your passion will run on this beard, while your legs struggle to support the reality that you have not gone to heaven yet, you only visited there by my invitation…
*
First published in Opinions Of Eye.com

Breath of Coals

“Heroes are made in the hour of defeat. Success is, therefore, well described as a series of glorious defeats.”  Mahatma Gandhi

Breath of coals consumes
the compliantly relented peace of many
Leaping from dreams and
defiling with hungered presence
“Come my enemy, give life to me by your hate” 

 
A leprous char to remain in
the abandon of slanderous consumption
The takers of hope are meant to be,
giving life to survivor’s dreams 
– “Come my enemy, give life to me by your violence”


Cherished visions have no meaning
unless colored with blackened attacks
Their worth determined by the
crackling heckles of many jealous lovers
– “Come my enemy, give life to me by your acridity”
 
Victory will never give birth
till hate eagerly prevents its hasty advance
Only pain and adversity will show
the incensed revelation of a hero

– “Come my enemy, I know success by your presence”

11012012

Shallow – Love and Hate

“I was tired of pretending that I was someone else just to get along with people, just for the sake of having friendships.” ― Kurt Cobain

Tears in my eyes now for days without end.
Trying desperately to hide them, desperately to blend.

Cant show weakness they may attack
Cant show pain, they’ll stab me in the back

My facade is part of me, peace I follow
Hate inside of me, normality is shallow

Left with pieces I exist only to live
beyond my breath, I try to give

09042010

Tug of War

“All gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, and so, give them the power to pull ours.” – Aldous Huxley



a-lunatic-mind

Sinking below the water’s horizon, I’m afraid to reach out to the hands offered to help. God, I do need the help, but at what cost? I’m just trying to survive, to pull my head above this liquid grave and take one more life giving breath. Can anyone just pull me up? It’s my fault I’m here, but don’t put me in the chains of your plans for me because you have it all figured out and for now, your feet on are the boat. The waters will boil, swallowing the best laid plans, resisting the strongest efforts, and here is where everyone falls. Your strong now, but I know the sense of control that comes when you realize that I, your desire, will be held near you by your assistance out of my tragedy. Your hand is what I need, and not just yours, but the effort of a village. Tug of war, I’m grabbed from two directions, pulling me not where it’s best for me, but where the hands want me to go. Just breathing is no comfort when, after I breathe, I find myself immersed in the murky water of slavery to a strange will. Sweet Jesus, my heart is overwhelmed and I cannot feel, I can only gasp, hoping that what ever hand I blindly slap the water and find, is one that will release me when I’m aboard.

What if?

 “You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.” ― John Bunyan
catladythings
What if I discovered the reason I’m alive is to help you? And without that help, my life’s a waste, worthless crumpled paper blowing down an alley. What if the traps laid were my needs or an exploration of my feelings in an egocentric circle of lost opportunity? What if I looked for ways I can help? If I’m not here for you, then I must depart, this life has nothing to offer me alone. If there is no “we” on this earth, no family to belong to, no greater good to serve, then I’ll lay down in peace and give up my breath. What if my dying breath were given for a resuscitation of your life? Is this the greatest gift? To give my life for you? I’ve heard this sacrifice called the greatest love, do I pursue this divine commission? What if we knew that our ways were best fulfilled in this purpose, holding each other above the water? What if my strength grew with helping you, and shrank if I used it to tread the water of my desire? Then with a great heave I’ll lift you up, putting you on my shoulders to breathe, for your breath has become mine, and mine yours, and this is what we call living. 

Also Published in Broowaha Magazine