Lover

Leaving was the strangest part
of my days with you, always
verging on the inevitable, recalling
each day, incredible, like a love song
reminding, how love could be blinding.

Ours

I feel on the verge of an idea, on the brink of something apocolyptic like there's something teetering on the tip of my tongue, sitting there semi-lucid,
waiting for a tap on the shoulder
it's female, this thing that drives me to static interludes,
or moments of clarity, or a stillness that i cannot reach simply by not moving
and in this docile state, i would think that she would show herself, but the truth never comes - at least not in this frame

and you know i am still often amazed when i see one of you pass me by
maybe i am disturbed by the free will you possess, something so natural so obviously normal, gives me the chills
that we are separate entitites, does not somehow make sense to me,
but maybe i simply live too often the public life on the surface,
foregoing the underlying of which i am so fond

(that the love i want to feel for you all would be discarded, breaks me)

and thus i'm on the verge of greatness of messianic proportions, but if i allow myself to believe this absurdity then i am surely doomed, aren't i?
for we know damn well that all visionaries must die violently

so... a visionary? me? no, surely not
the messiah? yeah right

all i ever wanted to do was prove to you that you are the thing that i cannot believe myself to be
in this, my current evolution, i am finding it difficult to believe the truth; a truth that is not only mine but rather, each and every one of ours.

Beautiful figment

Oh beautiful one,
you with the golden smile
i thought you should know
i've cherished you now for quite awhile
after twenty years, i thought you should know

and it seems
you are a figment
some kind of intangible observer
inherently safe within the confines of a dream

there,
my hands cannot touch you,
my lips cannot kiss you,
nor words, can they reach you

so fear not, my figment - you are well preserved

and clutching your knees into your chest
you smile in my direction as if suggesting...
somehow saying, "i do not see you the way you seem to."

and i have watched you watching me for so long now
sitting there in some phantom pasture,
underneath a generic sort of tree
with the wind blowing gently through your hair
i have watched you sitting there

and i have convinced myself that your smile,
albeit an equation of some kind of chemical persuasion,
was an invitation for a rendezvous
but i could never seem to find you,

that kind of tree doesn't seem to grow here anymore.

The flowing

If there is nothing between any two given bodies in space
then what is it that holds the two bodies apart?

if there is nothing to separate me from you
then why should we live our lives as two?

the emptiness that warrants the illusion of distance
must not be real, therefore

distance is a dream
a tool to keep us sane
a surface structure
built to sustain an earthly organic reality

some will call it gravity
as if trying to destroy me
because clinging to science
for some, seems to be a good remedy
for fear

and because the idea that there is no amount of space between you and i,
that we are indeed, all, somehow interconnected, is too much of a
stretch for us in our current evolution to even begin to try to accept, we will continue killing one another as if we were'nt killing ourselves

and below - the underlying - a true perfection
not, as of yet, for human eyes; the flowing goes.