We used to eat poison when
we woke – the breakfast of
champions. (American
breakfast cereals were
designed mostly as
a defense against
masturbation.)
Young and bored, we dared
death to find us; instead
he found our friends
in their weak
moments.
Now we resist toxins, cut away
dead tissue, evict corrupted
cells; now we leave
maimed hearts
to compensate.
We still want to be loved,
I think. (God I love the
way your voice
changes when
you speak
to me.
All
most,
I could
believe in
tenderness.)
We still want to be strong, I
think – to access brilliance,
to scale absolute peaks
where air is too
thin to be
blue.
We still want to have beautiful
souls – the kind people talk
about in still small voices,
the kind no one
ever forgets.
Quarantined in mediocre wards,
we remember extremes with
fondness – the way we
remember youth
and each
other.
But we no longer dare much,
or even little; there is no
freedom lust, no hunger
for oblivion (that most
beautiful word in
English – we
used to
agree).
My love has grown cold:
no longer an empath,
I remember once
feeling pain
for others’
hurts –
even the
ones they
never knew
or confessed.
Whittle away years and strength
and everything that matters –
these will not be regained.
Very nice , very sad , very true . Very good !
Thank you.
I sense a certain impatience… don’t know why. Can others keep up with your? Just wondering…
douryeh – sorry if I’m being dense, but I’m not sure I understand your question.
‘But we no longer dare much,
or even little; there is no
freedom lust, no hunger
for oblivion’
As I read this, I just wondered if others can keep up with your pace… it sounds as if you had to wait for decisions or answers, that didn’t come, or later than you had hoped. But maybe I’m filling in now…
I sense there are many deeply emotional feelings hidden in this poem. Many things in life have left you feeling apathetic…I don’t believe for one minute that things that once mattered cannot be regained. It may seem to be the case when someone has been dragged through crap a good deal in their life, but maybe the things that once mattered don’t matter anymore, and new feelings and experiences step up to take their place. Your poetry speaks to this. There is a deep purging and gaining in this blog for you. You may not see it yourself, but I do.
Intersting thought.
I think you can gain new things that matter – it’s more a sense of wasted opportunity … where thingw were either handled wrongly, or unappreciated when they were they, or in some sense betrayed.
I hadn’t given much thought to what is purged and what is gained. I think that may be an issue of perspective – being inside the maze or watching from above?