One to be Numb

This is divine pain
These are the words of our mothers and fathers
Whispered to each other, gently large
And quietly vital

Until you shine
These are the cries of our mothers and fathers
The pushes and pulls in great time
The following splendor

We are the light
These are the burdens of our mothers and fathers
Finding the sting where waves break
And thunder breathes

Count the faults
These are the wonderings of our mothers and fathers
Tenderly torn, mended to one
One to be numb

*Chords in progress. First two stanzas: Dm, A, Am, G, Dm, Am, E, E7 (4/4, one measure per chord)

Take II

Once upon a time a stupid child with a stupid dream made herself into a fool. She wondered and chased, ached and grew, discovered and faltered.

When I finished that obligatory chapter I meant to bury myself, not only you. I meant to bury us…together. Perhaps we could stay suspended in that beautiful memory, a frozen specimen of the past, living the same days and feelings over and over. Perhaps our cold bodies could cling to each other for warmth and in that eternal bond we might create a spark that would sustain us. Go ahead and be cynical. “The great ride is not fun forever,” you said, “and if we stay we will perish”…two forgotten souls, erased from all the world’s histories. Well I could ride this rollercoaster every day the sun graces our faces. “And if the sun would never come up again? And we were trapped in this mad night game? What then?” Then maybe our ugly, pale faces will reflect the thumbnail of God through each other’s eyes.

I’m not sure if you faded or disappeared, it’s all a blur. But I know that even as crazy days, wild nights, new experiences and new faces meshed with the contours of your own, your lavishly pungent memory remained hidden in the depths of my thoughts. It all happened so fast, or maybe too slow. Either way, it died.

Now what am I to think and feel…now that our life strings have struck a peculiarly mystical and minor chord. Sharp-minor, perhaps. As I come with my new identity do you even remember me? I kept my mystery…the hardest feat of all. But I have saved no one. I am no hero, no child of angels, no purveyor of deliverance. I try to remember you and think of you as I did—just to revel in our past glory—but I still see flashes of desperate criers, one after another, on their knees, pew upon pew of ignorant believers, mouths wide open but voiceless, tongues outstretched toward a stale square of salvation.

Your face slips in and out of my dreams and reveries like a wicked salmon, swimming sneakily between the currents, taking a route undesired by the strong but helpless river, a route so jarringly unnatural and yet timelessly rehearsed and structured into a pattern simpler than a primal heartbeat. I am not in love. The palpitations of my own heart beat to the same irregular rhythm of my stumbling words. I am not in love. A deep breath—in through the nose and—I know you’re here. I am not in love. I am a stupid child. I am not in love.

in retrospect: damn those wasted years

Is this just what I need—
A slap in the face?
We’re sprinting in circles, searching frantically
For a finish, a goal…all in vain.
Or maybe we’re tourists in Hell.
You tell me.
You tell me how it ends.
Cause my tired eyes won’t watch the rest of my life
Crumble at your feet.
So tell me.
Tell me how it ends.

Softly singing,
I can hear you in my sleep, singing
To her though I know the song was meant for me.
She’s a stranger
Warming her hands at the fire we built.
Why did you whisper her name
Just loud enough for me to hear?

Somewhere between the profoundly black and white
I’ll wait for you.
In the great gray that slaughtered our whimsical reveries
I’ll wait for you.
Until my wasted heart can beat no more
I’ll wait for you.
But all you need to know
Is I’m getting sick of waiting.