Killing me Softly.
The mirror on the wall confirmed the feeling. The blurry look on the face, staring back at me in defiance,
Was one with an appointment with the shifting sands. Confusion of all that tease.
Retiring for the night, my thoughts for company. Stepping into the lane of memory and turbulence. Solitude in slumber.
My comfort, cold as a damp squib ashore. Myself and I absorbed in the silent moments. Loneliness.
Sleep, a distant luxury, far gone at times such as this. And the bed, as soft and luxuriant, hiding thorny fiends
The lids of my eyes refuse their duty as if seeking an audience with extant beings unseen.
I lie awake and stare at the ceiling as I was wont to do. Only this time, a vacuum of thoughts
Simulating snores for a slumber trick. Instead, I find the goddess of slumber has fled my clutches.
What is the point? I ask of no one in particular… of all there is to life and our abundant ignorance.
Why do I have to bear the burden at all? Of loneliness and wariness and an aching restless heart?
I search the stars for answers and beckon the flickering light. I even attempt to touch heaven in the stillness of the night. I raise my voice a tempo or two, wondering if I am deaf, even as my heart wanders across the vast expanse of space.
And yet, in silence profound, the answers, many, confuse me. Attempting to quench my thirst for water with a fire hose.
Is it a question to answer or simply a mystery to live? Should I be pursuing the fleeting or just ignore my heart? Am I trying to catch my shadow without the swat of wisdom?
Or do time and experience conspire to render my brightest wisdom a dimwit’s paradigm?
Why is my taste so obscure in comparison to all? Why do they not labour under the same weight as me?
Are they all very forgetful and pay no attention? Or is it that I alone have stumbled along the way?
Perhaps my adventurous heart is so aimlessly restless. Perhaps, for answers, I ask and seek amiss. Maybe I should become like all those whose heart rests at night.
Or better, still, abandon hope and exist like all else indeed.
And yet I know that my destiny lies in something deep and true, as yet unknown and yet unseen but the presence ever near.
To embrace this whole and commune with it will surely make my life. If only I could find a way through the mist of time and the perennial rat-race.
Finally, drenched in painful soliloquy, sleep arrives unmercifully, snatches my thoughts. Slumber envelops my weary spirit and carries me far away
The dreams of distant places and the undiscovered country of anew. Perchance, one day, on the wings of the eagle’s soaring, I hope I can escape to that I might escape.
The land of forgetfulness and dreams where the laws are not oppressive. Here to live free with none to frown at me.
My wildest imaginations shall attend me as never before happened. And surrounded by all the chalice of my heart.
Your company sweet, I shall cherish. And your countenance of undying love, etched in stone for my eyes only
I shall cavort, mind and soul in this free space of ours The accusing eyes and fingers, nowhere near.
My dreams of yesterdays all merge so sweetly with the enchanting new.
I dream of you and exchange with you the fruits of our destiny
I share with you and eat with you in the undiscovered gardens of time
Our love of old in stasis laid, now aroused with warmth, you push and I pull as hard until the reality comes true.
The questions that I ask, my dear, are all about us, you see. The answers, elusive as the snow in the bleak mid frosty winter.
My emptiness and fear are because your face is unknown. And yet since our encounter long ago, my heart pined in pain so deep.
If you would discover me, my love, and hasten to my grove. I shall, I think, be made anew as we march side by side.
The truth lay buried in the sands of time, and denied the light of day. But now from the emergence of our cries, all things bright and beautiful.
I would gladly give up all I have and pawn every fibre of my being. I would scrub, with great relish, the floor beneath your feet
To give away all that I possess would, indeed, be the joy of my coffers. For your love and company, o, Amity, is the greatest prize of all.
They like me made are so few, they whose hearts beat askance. They like me do go astray with emotions placed amiss.
For long have I prayed and searched your face from a great distance. Blurred
But now with each passing moment’s delay, the palpitations beat the end.
Softly do the whispers grow, as though kind with the pains. Slowly, they draw nearer to my end with all the grace of a swaying cobra
Gently they administer the needle laced with the dripping life0sapping potion
And soon my dear, if you don’t respond, welcome to my end.
(C) All Rights Reserved. Patewood Lines. 2020