I'm a Creative person I'm an Athletic person I'm a fixer and a breaker I'm Vulnerable I'm Strong Love has shown me my feelings Hate has shown me my feelings A trailer hitch has shown me my feelings The world has taught me to Hide them Lies have shown me some truths My eyes have taught me some of what it is to be blind, biased, insightful, and empty My ears have taught me to ignore and to listen and where my elbows cannot go I play I bend I stand I tire I love I hate I creep I crawl I worm I flower I am I am I am I am
Dear Evona, I have been a farmer of recollections since we have parted. The harvests of my memories are a gathering of longing and despair; from a crop, which I did cerebrate sow. Tending in joyful industry, planting each seed of pine, each seed of sorrow. Each yield planted lovingly by steady hand. Each seed I did water to grow. Laborious, daily I have tended to my harvest. Cultivated, with my produce in hand, I prepare the perfect feast from which I dissect and taste my recollections. I dine and become fat with joy from my plump hunger and ripened anguish. I consume my garden of memories so that I might till the soil and plant a sweeter fruit. For now any seed I plant, or try to cultivate is a bitter rotten feast. Frequently I let my mind wonder to my memory of you, my Evona, my Eloisa, my Lolita, my forbid, my first. I frequently question why I should let the body of my thoughts walk and toil on your memorial garden? Perhaps this is where I am most happy, here in my quiet lamentation? In your garden I can sit inside of my head where the soil is fertile and the weather temperate for growing perfect errant memories. But, Goodbye my paramour, I will not cathect on you any longer. I am writing to you to say goodbye, a goodbye that this time is for me. I write to you, to walk with you at a distance. In a vacant room, from a vacancy, I string words together, carefully tying them to pull you close to me, if just for a fragile time. Oh, how fragile time is, suspended on such a delicate pendulum, made of memory spun threads. For the last time I will hold your hand so I might cross the commemorated page and embrace you. I will obsess so that I might light your face and find you in the dark tumultuous cell of my mind for the final time. I write to you of my longing in this letter that will never serve you. Hoping that I might know your name without a precursory sigh, without a sigh subsequent. Again I am saying goodbye but this time for me. It has been more than a generation since we have shared a word. We never did say goodbye, did we? Oh, we spoke the words but we did not believe them in our hearts. I did not. Goodbye simply meant till we say hello and embrace again. There were not detestable words towards one another, from one another. We parted steady. Perhaps we could say goodbye a thousand times, however having vowed our virgin vow to one another, some higher authority commits us? Perhaps? Perhaps I am the only one to be committed? Perhaps? Perhaps writing you now I can convince providence to divorce us? Divorce me from our dissilience. I have been haunting the world since we parted, since I found myself alone. Alone, where it is assigned, from the heart to the mind, my Sisyphean task. Alone is where it is always instigated, when your apparition appears. Such an evil evocative spirit you are, tormenting, vexing me through my perfect mind. Where, when in solitude, quiet weary thought frees me from my factions, frees me from my prison. There I am rapt within my chambers where flawless ideas are formed from within the darkness and the light. Ghostly thoughts formed from the heart tricking the mind to act on its request. With filial piety the mind must acquiesce. The mind does rule the heart to beat, but by the proclivity for the mind to obsess for the longings of the bard’s vessel’s vein, seduced by its mistress the heart does reign. Oh, the heart, she is a sly coquet. Flirt as she will, there cannot be a lawful marriage between the heart and the mind; the mind is wedded to reason, while the heart is committed to love. Betrothed or not, the heart is the mind's mistress and the mind the heart's master; inescapably I am a victim of their treason. Sweet, sweet treason eternally marries me to you. Ceaselessly, careless as the wind, driving me mad, drives me to suffer. My heart forces my mind, pressing me to kiss your name in my dreams, now as I think it, now as I mouth it. I know you again as your name is breathed across my lips and again I do taste you. Oh, you, you, you - you. When there are no reminders of you this alone reminds me of you. The days here are getting warmer. We had rain today. The sun has gone down and it is raining as I write this. Trifling I write, to stay connected as I once listen to you breath, air from heaven. I spend my days working and doing the ordinary tasks, within the factions that people must. Earning my fortune at rest, my most auspicious hour in sleep, where you reside. Visions of you and the current world is forgotten. Oh, my mind, the vessel, in which you are wrought, my mind the vessel in which you are not, suffers. Of all God’s afflictions you are the most evil, you are the most divine. Suffer now as I might, I anguished more severely in your tangible company, what a sweet ruthless anguish, what a sweet accompaniment to ordinary feeling, to common touch. I don’t know which was worse, the pain of me when I was to have you, or the pain of your disallowance. You are God's only finished composition. I know I am being punished for loving the creation more than the creator, then and now. I love you, though love is too common of a word to give my honest feelings towards you adequate worth. Finishing let me say I am sorry knowing I lend absolution only to myself. You bewitch me again and I have to remind myself of my purpose, of my toil to retire my minds work of you. I desire to desire not. To not know the worth of my gem. Before I sleep I will recite my sacred prayer: Post the day to rest and I. Gentle night come lullaby. Whisper to my ear and kiss my eye. Set free the stars to reign the night, And wash away the day’s goodbye. Cover me, let my dreams take flight. Bring to me my love rejected From my night reverie selected, For days love dejected. Entangle my cataleptic bed, With visions of life that I’ve corrected. Let her kisses to my head. If not in truth her lips I taste, Let her kisses there take place. Heal my wounds and remove the mace. With gentle breeze through window bare, Perfume my room with her lace. Cheat me now and think her there. Love, Corbin
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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