Where are you, my complement? I have yet to perceive your nature,
though I’ve faith in all our makers’ grand designs as
meaningful success that’s surely for the best.
I’ve only yet to grow into my higher self and better nature –
what I’ll need for when I meet The One (or anyone like me at all).
And is this Path not special – moving in a rare profundity?
Such is divine intent that’s realized through
every conscious kindred soul The Ancient Ones will ever choose to make.
Love has come alive again, in air of possibility…
My care for her has deepened in respect, as her maturity today has shown itself to me.
My thoughts seek not to limit her potential,
such a caring, forward-moving soul seems she to be,
but to look on with boundless faith in her fulfilled life destiny,
whether or not that unknown journey intertwines with mine and so with me.
What is the price of selfless love? Mere time and suffering,
rewarded with the prize of love’s return to a more perfect harmony.
So alone she seems, a stoic string strung here, now tugging at my heart.
I care that she too needs a deeper, more connected life,
like me, like anyone – two kind and grounded souls of sympathy
and growing, urgent emptiness relaxing into calm acceptance,
discarding desire for its inherent, empty pain.
She’s with me now, and so we wait our lives together
for the presence of a deeper good and merest chance of courage,
leading to the deepening of bonds and harmony in that regard.
She’s hurt – I hear it now, as clearly as I see the light of day.
I want to show her that we’re not all how she jumps to see…
Yet that adventure takes a calming courage
I’m not sure I bear consistently enough to persevere in this conversion of a soul.
What of her destiny? Don’t I bear responsibility to some degree?
We’re only how we are, though,
and deep change may only come from deep within, perhaps.
She’s not the only troubled soul whom I may help, as well –
I’ve only so much time in life, cool patience, and warm energy;
yet she’s a life of lessons, made for me to learn and build upon
with the level next of life’s maturity.
“Woe and Bond”
my crush is just so hard to join in any peace…
I lose my faith in self to help to solve our conflict,
and she sees this dejection, seemingly, as petty anger
which she jumps upon with an unreserved contempt,
calling me “such a little baby,” and, depressingly,
forgetting our long past – such problems solved..
to judge my soul as immature and even bad.
Her labile mind I could still love in hope,
if it were not for her poor memory –
her future’s handicap-extreme?
Yet we push on, don’t we?
Despite all animosity apparent,
persevering in a hope for resolution,
baring our lives’ histories so openly,
our insights, caveating well, thus
piquing open-heart relating and
restoring our so-temperamental
bond of some intimate empathy.
This is my training, is it not?
& worth the stormy tempest,
learning how to so resolve
what seems to ever drive
our splitting wedge,
Why is this so?
Perhaps she sees
I’m not a soul to
flush away like
I know not of
her heart’s intent –
I’m just attempting
to awaken in her soul,
whatever is compatible
with such a soul as mine
and listen well to her
expressions of her
deepest inner drives.
Excited by the challenge of an argument I’ve lost before begun,
misthreaded all along the way, and within each pejorative,
perhaps a grain of truth… which grace accepts and validates.
My paranoia now is realized, as now I realize that it’s okay
for any soul to somehow think the worst of me;
it steels and sharpens me for cool, pragmatic grace,
as we attempt to unveil truth and co-create affinity.
Her prickly nettle mind makes a connection’s bond perhaps impossible,
affection much like hugging porcupine – sarcastic, quick contempt consistent,
evidence of stress, depression, and anxiety. Will much good come of this?
She’s making more sense everyday – her rage, her drowsy sadness, shaking as if
on the verge of tears.. reminding me so inescapably of Catniss Everdeen,
exemplified in novel’s prose, of distant paranoia and so like the thorny rose.
“Love’s Idyllic Quench”
My romantic muse shows no warming interest
in me as a mate, and I am left to wonder what is wrong with how I seem
or simply if she’s not like me (in search of love’s idyllic quench).
I thought I’d miss her, gone, but I am just relieved to let the tension go
and sit in relative peace, beyond desire…
Perhaps I’m simply meant to learn to grow past self-deluded fantasy.
I wonder if she thinks of me, though, now –
such an attractive thought to my soft soul’s
sad search for a more satisfying spirits’ synergy.
“Considering the Consummation of a Crush”
Is it sin to wish for deepest love,
fulfilled, reflected, realized
between two souls of virtue-fantasy?
Is it healthy to give in to every drug
of any daydream, within which
none are as they seem in daily life?
Is it pragmatic, all consciousness
and time considered,
to make believe, love, and little ones
with a soul so caught in negativity?
Perhaps it’s not any view of the above,
but of the mystery as of yet not conceived…
My deepest drive, dyadic union,
ever in frustration,
kept alive by life-sustaining
crumbs of love,
keeps me torn in suffering
which I must move beyond
for better life.
Yet I’m so hungry,
I cannot seem to help myself
from helping myself
to every crumb.
I see a beautiful and troubled heart,
and I identify with cares and pains
this other shows to my
humanity of love and desperate hunger
for a form of harmony.
Blue-heart love must miss
its ill mirage of a dyadic union’s
promises of hope
that we are more together than:
apart, alone, adrift
in the forever-shifting currents
of a transitory life.
We’ll see in time, perhaps,
if more is right,
if we are kindred souls
from worlds apart
who take a blessing from
each other’s heart and start
a grown-together life
of hearts in harmony.
“The Circuit of Desire”
Desire comes, and cyclically,
desire takes my peace, and then
dissatisfaction shunts back to desire,
seen as resolution of such suffering –
an end to tortured-soul-mentality
(which never comes, ironically)…
There was a time, so brief and glowing,
when we made each other happy, dear,
but soon the honeymoon became divorce,
and here we are, so negative again, in want of what?
I’m seeing now through what dysfunction’s
plagued me with for so long…
The drug is potent – I shiver in its love.
Addiction washes over all my logic,
and I hope and wish for changes
that may let us find a deeper
and more perfect union
in each other’s arms
and hearts of love.
And yet, so many bricks of divisive
misunderstanding have built this
great wall of pejorative irony.
God has plans, it seems,
beyond fulfillment of
fantasy of union.
I let it go again, again, again…
My sense of her gets ever
deeper in experience,
and I forget and
What is WRONG with me?
Why must I BE like this?
Hope is my essential,
I suppose, but I
She’s working other bonds,
I know, and isn’t like me,
doesn’t like me, and
don’t strike me as
a soul for keeps
for such a soul
So why can’t I just get over it?
Am I so weak to any love?
My life is my decision
& I will let this drug
now run its course
to an extinction,
ever luring my
and again in
all its curse.
“Both in Blue”
Both in blue, we repel somehow…
She’s just so cynical, it seems,
Misunderstandings at the ready intuition,
that we haven’t even merest chance of
stably holding mutual high regard.
Still, my crush, it forges on,
in my suspended disbelief
in some idyllic fantasy of dyadic union,
so sad and lonely am I in
these dark and troubled days…
“A Disparate Perception of Intent”
Haunted by misunderstandings
covering, confusing every
possible grain of truth.
I’m sorry, shamed, guilty, yet misled –
I forget that I truly didn’t mean
what she seemed to interpret me to mean.
The thought emerged, I know,
from just my awkward need to
brighten moods with a joke.
I even first considered
that it might offend, but
she’s so self-effacing,
in the end, in long split seconds,
I chose to express the joke, in all its risk of
possible disgust and feelings hurt,
and in the end I earned the judgment of my love,
who was attentive to my words of foolish jest.
Where are there people
who are willing to grant
the benefit of the doubt?
“You stick to the laughing,
and I’ll stick to the joking,”
I said in faux egotism,
using a different voice
to quip and rib her wryly for
her own failed attempt at some levity.
Were the shoe on the other foot,
I’m sure I might have been
embarrassed, angry, hurt –
tested in my grace and in my
faith in my apparently evil “friend.”
I hope this incident will serve as
an inoculation against
such glib and careless rhetoric
and ground me in
my sense of what’s appropriate
to say, even in jest.
She’s so quick to lash out
that I only manage conversation
with sheer calm and curious grace.
She seems to ask no questions,
save the ones whose pointed barbs
slash and sting my sensitive soul;
and as I get to know her,
more and more her face and voice
reflect this person-sense within my intuition.
Attraction fades now thankfully
in the light of this acknowledgment,
and I am open, glib, and peaceful once again…
She’s righteous, just like me,
yet quickly polarizes as if I were bad,
over misunderstandings about my heart’s intent.
Can I transcend this hurdle, teaching of my heart to her esteem,
or is this God’s mirage again,
playing on my superficial judgment
of her beauty as indicative of personality,
a delusional mirage which I so crave?
How stupid I have been, to pine impossibly for union
with a firework like her, who judges me, so quickly dark.
“Lessons of Love”
I do not love her cynicism, but I love her good intent.
Can she not learn to find her way out of this dysfunction,
with my tested guidance, gently said?
She must just trust in my intent as good,
so I must ever even more live life impeccably,
in mood and thought and speech and act,
and grace through her inevitable flip,
perhaps asserting, for later memory
and my own sense of some success,
my balanced and so long pro-social point of view.
Virtue, be my only; I see to your heart.
You see the goodness in your face,
reflected in the mirror every day
and so must know so deeply:
You are Good, embodied.
I remember your delusions,
not so different from my own, perhaps..
..and could I love you ‘til the end of life?
Would I get bored or be your kindred spirit
as we exit reservation’s armored shell?
Ah, well, as God would have it,
you may well be just a muse of growth for me,
of incarnated illness, cured,
which I seek to withstand
within my heart of honor’s search for harmony.
She’s gone, and I feel the loss.
She’s not the one for me,
but God has teased me with forgetful hope.
We don’t even respect each other, really –
she thinks that I’m a narcissist,
and I think that she’s projecting
her paranoid cynicism onto me.
She may be a salvageable soul, in time,
but is it worth all of our intensive effort?
She keeps me fearful of misunderstanding,
yet focused, cognizant of efficacy…
…and I could live with that –
I’m already now adapting to her ways.
She stares not out of love, but out of dismissive contempt.
When Fem-A laughs and calls me “funny,” Fem-B corrects her – “annoying,”
and I’m left to wonder why and how I’m seen so differently to each of them;
and friends they are, enjoying friendly company away from me
and joyfully relaxed, even, seeming so carefree…
The ache returns as I look to its force within my heart,
and so I once again let it go – my fading pain…
“What Can I Say?”
I care and care
and fail and fail
and learn to let
success work out
without my tries
at help for what
seems best for
those who care
as well and are
willing to feel
pain & suffering
for that love.
“What Is Love?”
Welling up from deep inside,
the hope I now confide in you
is a mirage I made in my addiction to
idyllic dreams, and how they seem to be
The Answer when I am lost and searching
for what I’ll only find within me.
I used to think that love was when I just can’t do without.
Then one down day it struck me – what true love is all about.
The more I grasp and cling to what I think I want,
the less I see that we don’t need nothing at all for this moment to be complete.
That’s why I’m giving up the heartsick crush of petulant desire,
so I can give of a love that’s real, from a heart that starts to feel just fine
and so is capable of higher-minded, altruistic sentiments of such a selfless care.
“A Way Out”
I try and TRY to just escape its grip, but The Ultimate Irony won’t let me go.
In love with a parallel soul who can’t look past the cover of the book,
I endure in my denial, further pushing said sad soul away.
Tears begin to well up past control, as I now realize
The full extent of this deep tragedy. I’ll live to laugh again, I’m sure;
somewhere deeper than identity, I struggle with this faith in life
and try to let such painful hope leave my heart, as my rejector suggested so callously,
being one who’s been through such deep pain as well
and knows its nature well, as well…
…and so I tell you true – we can be friends,
when you leave the pine behind and care enough
to respect my need for some Platonic space.
I don’t want to be your addiction, dear –
it’s a bit much on a daily basis…
depravity is not becoming,
and my nausea and irritation well on up, as well…
Is there a solution which might work for the both of us?
Be mindful, my friend, of your nature
and what’s possible as good, and know –
I’m willing to attempt to help you through,
if you can see enough of this sad picture to change…
I recognize that your focus isn’t entirely off-base –
social pleasures are only natural to crave, I feel.
It’s just not rational to crush on me, for I am unlike any other soul –
it’s not my path to lead you on, but to work on my transmission
to this culture so deeply in need of wisdom.
Focused I am, and focused will stay, I know, on my values,
attentive to the betterment of self and world around.
“Thought to Free a Captive of Desire”
Within a want’s seduction,
I am now and ever lost,
evaded by the satisfaction
I lose my potential now to seek.
Mirages of fulfillment reign
in my direction’s wisdom,
as mortality creeps up on
all my wasted consciousness.
I came to recognize this cycle,
mindfully aware of processes
of function and dysfunction
and the priorities of my life.
Closure thus becomes of it,
and health is thus restored,
as my desire is so dissolved
in introspection’s simple light.