Back To Back

“You may not remember the time you let me go first.
Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn’t that far to go.
Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up.
You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:

Today, no matter what it takes,
we ride home together.”
― Brian Andreas, Traveling Light: Stories & Drawings for a Quiet Mind

 

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Back to back that’s how we started,

fighting the whole world, we never parted.

Then came new life, shafts in the quiver.

We fired them off, our crops never withered.

Along came the wolf, death he swore.

He limped and lied to get through the door.

He consumed you with his intellectual abandon,

my back now unguarded, my heart saddened.

I tried for months to retake the hallowed ground,

but you were too far gone, never to be found.

Lost and spinning, exposing my nakedness,

I struggled grimacing, my life hard pressed

Then I saw her, evil disguised as purity.

Face of an angel, a heart that wasn’t free.

I came to her with my intentions pure,

she cast one glance, it was over for sure

All the passion I wished you to use,

now you found it, she was your muse

I drove on, looking at you secretly,

asking me to stay, your nakedness I see

To late, like fire spreading on water,

she flowed freely, around all your barter

Driving on into my own peril,

she would slay me with just one arrow

Entranced by her wiles, I followed her to hell,

but my back not guarded, I swiftly fell.

Barely I survived, held under the water of pain,

my lungs bursting to breath love again

Fire scorched and burned through all my nerves,

it never went out, smoldering in the curves

Struggling to gain ground, to get back to back again,

Back to back one day, I long for my friend.

Also published in Broowaha

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Alone –

 “Imaginary lovers
Never turn you down
When all the others turn you away
They’re around
It’s my private pleasure
Midnight fantasy
Someone to share my
Wildest dreams with me” 

– Atlanta Rhythm Section

 

DreamWind

I’d do anything to keep from being alone, pay any price, be used to the “nth” degree and never say a word. Being used is better than being alone but it stings knowing the object of my affection will hurt me, maim my spirit, and destroy my forward progress. Still, I follow hard after her, giving all to maintain that relationship and avoid the terrors of being alone. What compromises have I willing conceded to? What violations of my self-esteem and personal space have I allowed for unrequited affection? What tortures has my heart been through, my body feeling the wretch of emotions that sets my nerves on fire? Being addicted, not to a substance, but to a world of egocentric affection that I’ve created by taking the object of my affection and embellishing her to a fantastic degree. I should know better, I do know better. The voices of friends and family, concerned that I am “being used”, try to slap me awake. Ignoring their advice, pushing away the voice of truth, I continue to live a world that only I see. Go away you bearers of truth, you wreckers of dreams, this is my world, I will not see it in your light! I take my script and apply it haphazardly, patching up the holes in the dike containing my empty dreams. Eagerly lapping up my lack of self-control and willful delusion, the protagonist in my play continues to feed my world of facades with empty compliments, cool affections, and eyes empty of love.  One day I’ll wake up and grab hold of myself, one day I’ll acknowledge this self-imposed hell, one day…but for now, I look at her and imagine how she loves me.

Also published in Broowaha

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