Her feelings fetus-like
unborn, unfinished, unphrased,
in bad faith, ill-conceived
Via an almost infertile thoughtstream,
with nearly fruitless yet violent current,
it entered her
Increasing pressure made her deliver
that which the flood procreated,
made its way and
she regained her formulation ability
voiced an answer (in silence)
to unasked questions.
Now to speak it out loud, or perhaps just one scream,
was all she desired and would forever onwards crave.
What ought to be a clamor
of decisive forte
An afterbirth of what-ifs
My gut feeling
I demoted it to an expatriate
now it joins the foreign legion
which consequently attempts to conquer
That pure residu
I attempted to extract, remain with
I am unsure if it is strong enough
I need more time,
would want a word, but
the rules forbid us
I could forge but one attempt
Is this a spark or a seed,
is it destruction or foundation?
“Rien ne va plus”
An involuntary spasm /
Did the both of us went all in?
I dare not look.
The wheel starts spinning.
Your featherlight touch smacked my back
The candlelight did blind my eyes
A passing summerbreeze scourged my skin
Hours passing at speeds of the minute hand
We left the world now, I believe
You're granting it your goodbye smile
Did I not feel enough or did I think too little?
Or is this, this cluttered haze, what is supposed to be
manifest in a man's head / or body
at this very hour?
Words I always felt were allies,
so oftentimes my only advocates.
But lexis’ presumed perfection, completeness,
failed me that night.
When I lost being able
Both what held me back to speak
as well as
Why words were all I deemed an option.
I failed through fright
More complex than confined constriction
that is construed;
To cast my wish in flesh requires proficiency
in a language that feels foreign.
To you, sculptors of your own desires
In the know, of significant skill,
graduates of proverbial grammar school;
With Bernini like vision, aware of what
the malleability of what is yours can be;
Sanctioned with a power
to breathe life, like God,
Masters of reality,
I call onto thee,
A trumpeter ascends the hill,
declares the conflict war.
A power-struggle thus begins,
axioms will shatter.
The challenged equilibrium,
once truth, and whole and nothing but,
becomes a battle’s centerpiece.
I am prepared to hold our ground
soldiers wearing unobstructed reality
Mine wear ideals, stone carved convictions
which are unmaneuverable.
Nothing but a Phyrric loss seems possible.
What they call chemistry,
I’d want in man-made
The often praised mystery,
let me consume it unravelled
unburdened of unknowns.
It is too important
How to differentiate these:
close distances unbridgeable,
potential of far fetched proximity.
Stripped of protective garments,
naked, there Truth stood.
As an unwritten manifesto,
testament to the manifestation
of two defenseless incarnations
Prepared to engage.
Edward Munch – Amor and Psyche