Heartstring on Blue Sky

i’ve never been able to forget that dream
somnambulistic and wandering
never far from me
pulling me along as on a chain
made of smoke and chicken wire,
unbreakable because i make it so.

i’ve known what it’s like
to be completely free and empty
free of emotion and passion
of ego and id
free of all sense of self and meaning
empty of worth
to be completely still
and at peace
after miles of yearning and scratching and aching
and finding nothing to comfort
but the superfluous and trademark words of others.

i’ve felt how it feels
to be uncomfortable in my own skin
like my soul was scratching to get out
gnawing and clawing at my inside
a restless slumber,
a torturous ease.
and as the discord within me
seemed to grow to a crescendo i somehow burst
and found that emptiness
the calm before a storm
or death itself
and was still in it
and for the first time in my life
i knew what i wanted
without caring about it whatsoever.
i was empty.
i was abandoned by myself
and not at all sorry about it.

and i have been searching for that ever since.
it only lasted minutes
or hours
or days
but it didn’t last long enough for me to be satisfied.
how do i live without it
and i have searched desperately and with the enthusiasm
of one who has nothing else to search for.
no other hope in the world
but of finding that perfect stillness
an emptiness uncontrollable and daunting
wrapped up in the coolness of the words that flow endlessly there
a poet’s paradise
an eagle’s view of a pensive and quiet world
as it turns in somber melancholy
toward that inevitable future and the burning gaze of a red sun
as the people,
bubbled in their problems and successes,
their petty creeds and jealousies,
push and shove their way to a fiery fate,
careless and reckless
in an effort to live for meaning.

they don’t understand what meaning is.

they who trudge toward the abyss of death
fearful and disbelieving,
stumbling over the wet weeds and empty flowers
the trees and ponds full of creatures they study without passion
as the earth sighs and heaves her great head elsewhere
to reminisce of happier and emptier times
when she was alone and quiet,
asleep and peaceful,
benign and jasmined.



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