Friday, June 27, 2014



May 6, 2014 at 5:16am

How appropriate
and utterly absurd;
Two artists meeting,
uncovering truths of soul,
and blowing off the dust
of a million evaporated tears.
In one puff,
happening suddenly...
Like turning your ankle
in a hole you did not see.
Thinking time and again,
Where has this been hiding?
Wondering how possible
or real can it be...
Something akin to a childhood fable,
A fairy tale,
A perfect seashell on an endless beach
of broken dreams.
To glide a chiseled
flawless path:
Ha ha, you knew better!
Every writer understands,
the most supreme script
has that element of darkness.
Always an evil queen
passing a poisoned apple.
And knowing who we are,
and what we are as well,
coming as no surprise.
Like the most intricate detail,
our love like a motion picture...
The one teen girls and young couples
flock to see,
and pay to see again,
and again.
Why would it not be this way,
So perfect?
But it's ridden with wounds

from bloody, broken arrows.
some painful moments
where the happy child falls
holding her bent, bleeding knee
and crying.
Where lover's think again,
Silently fear...
A bath even warm and soothing
can easily drown one.
Cast roughly atop the water
even a fish can die.
Scars can still kill
If we allow them power to strangle...
The hope lies in the storyteller...
It is we who do the writing...
Not fate, or hate,
or her...or him.
Not people or places,
Only two of us.
Pains and past can not write our story.
The epic tale of wounded hearts
cursing all
does not exist.
We are not a slave
To drama saying,
"This is too hard, too weird,
Too painful...I must go onward alone."
In the most wonderfully creative portion
of my brain, heart and soul,
I sit hunched over in the darkness of present,
feverishly penning the rest of our lives.
Because love is worth,
not only the creation of our story,
but the recording and rereading of it.
It means that much to me.
Its not just any story,
or any love...
It's ours.


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