Monday, January 18, 2010

Deepest Depths Loved Me Down A Sinkable Oblivion

Deepest Depths Loved Me Down
A Sinkable Oblivion

I want to write in venomous adjectives and verbs that once injected would solidify my soon to be eloquent illustration of what exists in the depths of my mind-in regards to the concepts of love I hold hostage in my heart. Truths, that hurt me terribly and leave me wondering why loving me is so hard for someone else and why it is so hard for me? If only I could find the letters that would burst forth from their paper confinement and assemble at attention the words that would allow me to strategically conspire with my emotions. Words that would aid me in letting it all out, letting it all go... God help me please, I need the release, I need to let go, I need to let it all out-I have reached my brink and I am about to overflow.

If only I could find the right color palette that would allow my mind to translate onto canvas what images I see in my head. These images are terrible…terribly beautiful and wonderfully amazing, all too wrong, but oh so right, but yet I want to let them go too… I need to let them go because I am afraid of drowning in the beautiful depths of desire, but instead I swallow the razorblade of silence and bind my thoughts to my soul. All the while I pretend my paintbrush slithers through rich vermillion capillaries, a color I would surely use to ignite the fuse for the final countdown that precedes my demise. Tick-tock, Tick-tock, Tick-tock…second by second the anticipation over throws the inhibition leaving me alone lost in the rising depths.

I can taste the empty love across my lips and it leaves me parched as I watch the embers of another lost love burn complete while the desperation starts dragging me down into the smoldering remains of what I use to be. Disposing of my imagination and leaving me to remember my fevered dreams. The somber veil of a loveless truth covers my eyes. Am I sinking deeper or is just that the water is rising and I am anchored upon short chain to the seafloor? I don’t know, but it is beautiful still...I’m scared but I am welcoming my oblivion.

I am left tickled by my own fantasies and I want to know what real love is and why it eludes me so? What magic words would I have to chant repeatedly to bind love to me? Which words should fall like a river from my praying lips loud enough to deafen all of my sins like the sound of ten million Hail Mary’s spoken potently off the silken tongues of angles? What do I need to do and who do I need to be to know what love is? Who I am now has only shown me what love isn’t and I am scared that I will never know what it truly is.

Pandemonium is the only friend I have and the few relationships I have been in are like ski slopes only I never quite reach the top and I find the bottom awfully quick and usually flat on my face. I have thought I was in love only to discover it wasn’t love and I am left wondering if I am somehow suffering some inflicted prophecy designed to cause an epidemic between my torrid heart and inquisitive soul…forevermore.

Concepts of love have me lynched by the spider webs of my own fevered dreams. Dreams strewn beneath my feet shattered in a million directions. I only wish to be able to piece them back together but alas, I must admit I am terribly impatient and the silken noose only grows tighter when I try. My reflection in the mirror next to me is terrifying – I see myself choking with the solicitation of my own velvet coated yearnings. Yearnings and desires that slothfully fill my lungs binding my ingĂ©nue heart to stories that already had their happy endings. I thought it was love that was supposed to hang gracefully, catching light like stain glass and showering stains of pleasing emotions upon all who receive it, but instead all I see is the taut silken noose around only my neck.

That desire to know love and be loved is like a perfect drug and it arrives effortlessly in all the hearts of those who yearn for it…always on time as predicted. This desire has a way of infiltrating our consciousness leaving our senses satisfied by the intoxication, making us addicts from the beginning. I was told that true love moves in a graceful motion like the ocean and even the stormy waters are always survived because of the truth that exists in real love, but I haven’t felt that effect yet. I have felt the lie of lust that enchants our perceptions that tethers us to void physical satisfaction in a masquerade of hallucinations. I don’t want the illusion or the hallucination anymore I want the real thing. What does the gaze of love look like and would love’s eyes illustrate my reflection? I can’t help but be infatuated by capturing its expression and imprinting it on the back of my eyelids.

It has been said that love’s lips are defined by a labyrinth of soft cracks like veins on petals of crimson roses-provocative and kissable-yet wholesome and so full of bright truth it seems as though the light could blind you. Love is suppose to exist as a real truth but through our materialistic virtue and constant need for instant gratification, it stands instead, like a surreal statue on viewing in the Louvre, for all to look at but never touch, never be within reach. Becoming a fantasy of our deepest longing- a figment we can only crave to be real...and I am still left to hoping while sinking to oblivion in the uncharted depths of an unknown sea that there is still the slightest possibility of true love finding me…
©L.Warren 2010

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Square peg…round hole

square peg…round hole
I don’t fit
bend the piece
make it fit…for awhile
bend the piece
until it breaks
damn…it broke
I am broken
Emotions torment
tears fall
bewail the silence
my thoughts
scattered across pages
acquiring a measure
of immortality
remembered…like ink floating
forever on an atonal manuscript
emotion is
a picture worth
a thousand words
emotion is
a word worth
a thousand pictures
Which has more value?
azure is a pretty word
it colors emotions so well
I am writing pictures
and painting words
I don’t want
my ink to fade
or my paint to crack
I don’t want
my words…my pictures
to grow dim
obscured by time
I want to fit in
square peg…round hole
I fear I will never fit in
In a blink…I see
myself grappling with the hem of time
as it hurries by-stops to wait…for none
How do you capture still moments
that move so quickly?
life is time
life is beautiful…living beautiful time
not to be captured-only to be lived
I wish to fit in…into a beautiful life
enshrouded by beautiful time
© 2010 L.Warren

Monday, January 4, 2010

Nameless Oeuvre

I want to write you a missive
but mere mondegreens
would paralyze the paper

paper laced with words;
words meant to be mellifluous
But I cannot write

I have lost my words
Wait! no I misspoke;
the words are not lost

The words are not flowing
or rhyming just stuck
on the tip of my tongue

Out of my reach but there
tormenting me;

those words

Words desiring to be
adroitly conflated
with raw emotion

Words longing to be

But alas I am misunderstood
a peccadillo hiding beneath
flesh of a ridiculous ingenue

If I did know you
I would tell you
I love petrichor

and anything
remotely pelagic
that's why I love horses

I would tell you a secret
I love big words; ones I can write
but cannot pronounce

but even more than those
I love poetic words
and beautiful pictures

I could be your moiety
drifting upon
a foudroyant offing

The piece searching
for a piece-whole heart
the complete puzzle

just out of reach
like my words
I am desperate

to capture; be captured

I would ask you
if you can swim
Yes?! Then swim to me

Adumbrate please
the thoughts on your mind
I would be in love to know

I want the serendipity
in synchronicity
to find me

finding what it is
you are not looking for

I want you to
FIND ME because
I am too scared to look for you

serendipity within the sempiternal
close your eyes
can you see?

This is not a poem
or a Nameless Oeuvre
it has a name only you can give it