3 March 2022
I am a frog,
Crucified on the operating table,
My heart an open wound,
And you, a novice scholar.
In the daemon-god’s golden glow,
I bathe in ignominy.
People come and go,
And my eyes follow them so.
In a corner seat,
I sit and eat,
Forge my opus from coffee streaks.
Music plays in my mind.
I scribble words to pass the time.
How is Life so strange?—
A magnificent game.
I tap my pen on the page,
Hoping to remember some forgotten pain.
People relish in heartache.
I know not what you do,
In these weely moments,
On these sorrow-soaked days.
But I will see you soon,
In a special room
constructed from fractured dreams
and rotting memory beams.
And we will talk of politesse—
If such things still exist—
of good and evil or of Love and God.
At least we tried…
My Sylvan heart, so often broke,
With you around, has sudden woke.
And it beats with sudden frequency,
After the first, the second, Third cup of coffee.
For love is born in the morning time,
But it dies without reason or rhyme
when the cold of winter has its time.
But Shelley promised the oncoming Spring!
And I hear the ring of morning bells,
Of balls and chains—and the early cry of pain.
The bells of Sheol call, and pull us down to Hell.
I suppose it’s just as well…
I wonder why. I wonder why,
I wonder why my hair’s not dry.
If I should be seen in such a state of bloom,
I think I’ll retire to my room.
There’s no harm in letting days pass.
There’s no honour in seeing you so soon!
Even if, I’m wanting to.
Your operation is near complete!
My heart again may beat, and I move
about the room, walking with my metric feet!
But it’s getting harder to stand the heat.
Love’s getting harder to prove, or to keep.
Perhaps I’ll take a day off…
Perhaps I’ll take off a week.
To see you again, day after day,
In every which way, may break my fragile mind.
The longing to see you is with me, all the time.
Yet! The more we learn,
the less we know!
Teach a man to fish, and he shall never hunger.
Teach a man responsibility, and he shall never sunder.
But teach a man the way to Life, and he may go and kill himself.
For freedom is the charge, for this bit of property.
For freedom is the cage, with us through our days.
Freedom is the light that blights us Holy in the night.
And the noose, still hanging, twists.
Freedom, alas! We cannot desist.
(But you must agree! There are rules, and rules, to be followed!
Rules from yesterday and from tomorrow!
Freedom is all well and good,
but Freedom must be understood!
Surely, you can agree?)
“Why, yes. A poem should rhyme!
But only some of the time…”
I sit on my couch, in comfort and contemplation.
But look out! Comfort breeds corruption.
Love is not corrupt.
There is no man who could pay Love off.
Even in the roughest rough,
Love is there, in a dense tuft
of azure Beauty.
For Love is not red, but Blue!
I Love not myself, only You
And Love thy neighbour, as Jesus did.
And Love his wife, and Love his kid.
For if that Love is strong enough,
It may help them when things get rough.
And get rough, they often do;
They’ll get rough for everyone—expect for you.
You are a knight, with Love as a shield.
The great sword of Hope, you doth wield.
And slay the beast in the Heart—the great dragon, Doubt.
There is no comfort in Doubt,
So, why do scholars seek it out?
I see that you seek it too.
A cup of Truth: one for me, one for you.
I’ve already bitten the Cynicism capsule.
I fear I'm not versed in interrogation.
So, tell the Truth, to you, I will,
And prey above it does not kill.
The truth of the matter is:
“I love you, my sweet.
No matter where we go, no matter what we eat,
Every day, I want you, by my side.
From sun-up, ‘till sun-hide.”
As you see, it’s a simple thing.
You, the Queen, and I, the King.
I hope your Blue jewel will glow.
I think of many things on my walks:
I think of the hills, where I wish I were raised,
A dull Fernweh for manufactured memories.
I think of the faces, which now melt into one.
I think of the pain, and of the fun.
But most of all,
I think of You.
Your curls, your eyes, and your smile.
I sacrifice myself on your pyre.
I burn with a bright Blue,
No Red within the hue.
The Truest truth, still untrue.
And I run over Love with my carriage
while I’m on my way to marriage.
I don’t mind being dissected,
Though you won’t find me in your textbooks.
You were chosen, with the blade.
You are a destiny well—let me drink!
Imagine us, stars in the sky,
Or branches clawing from underground,
Or rivers flowing from mountains down,
Or thunder cracking in the night,
Or grains of sand, in desert dry,
Or rays reaching from morning’s light!
(But all we are is ourselves.
It’s all we can ever be.
And I can Love all of you
And you can Love all of me.
We cannot be the stars in the sky.
We can only note them in our moments together,
And hope those moments last forever.)
Moments not painted on an Urn
will surely grow old, to dust, and burn!
(No!)
No!
We have eternity!
To sing, and dance,
and to romance.
We have eternity!
To Love, and prey,
and know each other in every way.
We have eternity!
What does tomorrow, or the next day, matter?
Let us spend our time counting the flowers,
or breaking mirrors, or walking under ladders.
We have eternity!
And eternity after that!
To sit in small cafés and laugh.
So promise something to me,
that you will never go, that you will never leave.
Because, if my wish comes true,
eternity could last forever.