Posted on May 11, 2020
It’s funny how you waltzed into my life, so softly.
It was spring, I remember, when I first saw you. I was oiling a gun. I gasped, and held my breath. I was hoping so, that you would stay with me. Part of me wanted to plead with you, like a shy child. As if was reluctant to admit, that I needed your innocence. That magic aura you spread around, quite oblivious yourself, as to the living, fragile miracle that you are.
Having traveled far, I wondered what you had seen. Experienced. I wondered how cold you had been, how thirsty, how hungry, how lonely, how desperate, even. None of it, though, appeared to have tarnished your grace and beauty. The magic of your delicate entry. You will never know how I stopped, to quietly, surreptitiously, gaze, and marvel, at you.
In the early morning sun, you’re radiant. Luminescent. Not just with color. For bursting forth from you, comes ‘Life’. Hope. Joy.
And I, a tinge of bitterness, battling scars that bleed, warring with cynicism, that corrosive acid, that eats away at the soul, I… every time, I draw in my breath, sharply. The way the sun’s rays stroke you. Bath you. Invisible fingers, touching, loving you. I marvel. At the amazing mind that conceived of you.
I think of how little I know. Always, always, I come back to that vague awareness of inspiring, living Art. Unheard Music. Untasted streams. All around me. Breathing, Dynamic Poetry. Soul refreshing Wonder. That exists, freely available for me to drink in. Slake my thirst.
I would go, at times, to where those quiet waters flow. And where the patient pines, if only I would learn to listen, whisper a melody. A running of an invisible stream. If only I could learn to be quiet, still, and close my eyes. And see not just pompous Man’s interminable wars and homicidal bitterness, the clash of civilizations, the endless lies and short term greed. Unnatural lust, and sadistic, bestial joy. That willfully, wickedly, demean my race.
If I could only learn to grasp the long hand of Time, the ancient epochs of Tranquility, from which a patient, resilient Universe glances down, in secret amusement at this passing, noisy critter, Man. This pitifully brief, momentary interloper, this windbag puff of noise and strutting vanity. Soon, to be gone. Next second. No loss?
And, in the midst of all that cacophony, arrogance, and futility, you… enter. Like just now. So delicate. In a sense, the supreme trophy in the show case of Life.
Having traveled far, I wonder what you have seen. Experienced. I wonder how cold you have been, how thirsty, how hungry, how lonely, how desperate, even. None of it, though, appears to have tarnished your grace & beauty. The magic of your delicate entry. You will never know how I stopped, put the gun down, to quietly, surreptitiously, gaze, and marvel, at you. I guiltily loved you, then. For I, a Man, cursed, feel ugly.
I confess this, however, my eyes downcast.
Fearful of rejection.
I love you, still.