Alas, I cannot give to you the transcendence of celestial grace whispered on the warm sigh of the universe. I cannot make promises of eternal oneness our souls lost within the essence of same. The heavens may not be ours and the skies may never rain tears of joy for solace of our unity. I have no power to wield such fantasies, I have only the now. I cannot command the universe, I can only command my heart. I know not the frequency of existence, I know only the love I have for you. I cannot give you transcendence, for I have only the power to love. I have only love to give you. I have only love to give you. It is raw and lacks the boundaries of beauty. It is real and lacks the veil of falsities. It is love and it transcends the edge of time it wields the power of life. It is all I have. My love for you is all I have to offer.
They’re Catholic, does that matter? I say it like it does, like the cross in their window bears their souls, but where was God when she fell? Some people spill love from their pores in caring smiles and mindful nods. Her twinkle near most left that day, and for a moment I saw doubt in his eyes. He looks like St Nicholas, smiles like an old pirate and looks at his wife as though he has found the grail, I suspect he has. I suspect unbeknown to him, them, all of us, he has found that which is more holy, more powerful and more beautiful than any other earthly matter. Their love is different. The passion comes in his early morning jolts to the allotment, the way he stops at the corner looks back and waves like a mad man drowning at sea, anything to see that twinkle in his gals eye. She aged, over night, but her beauty never faded and her belief never drained. She smiles now with those sparkly blue eyes lined with tears as she hobbles past on his arm, the broken hip a memory of the past that remains in her gait, him in cut of shorts, a baggy office shirt buttoned up high and white spangly legs… They’re catholic, devout, they go to my church that I pretend to forget to attend and as I sit beneath the muted blues of an evening sky and watch him wander by I wonder. They’re Catholic. Does it matter?
I envy them, him, their love has a pureness seen only in the final pages of old dusty fairytale books, each kiss I believe renders them immortal, spells dispersed and magic created in the enchanted presence of such a love as theirs. Such a simple existence, a moments kiss and passion fills their auras spilling outward, exploding into the melancholy day and yet, a kiss filled with so much desire and not an iota of indecency, as though they are God’s angels, as though their love is blessed by the heavens and coveted in white feathers. They speak with their eyes, knowing glances that say, ‘ill be back soon my love, but in these seconds without you, know only this, I exist for you, for you.’ I envy them, him, her, I envy them.
This is an observational poem on a couple I see almost daily, in the latter part of their lives now they still love each other with a pure depth, she stands at the gate waving till he’s at the end of the road, where he gives her one last wave before he turns the corner… It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
I have a deep yearning within me for solitude silence, for the swaying grass, and whistling leaves for rolling hills endless skies of blue and the rising giggle of the days sun spilling across lush green grass just beyond the railroad and her one a week station that sits patiently without sound, yearning for the hustle and buzzle of life.
I wonder does the soul feel space do we sense miles peppered by oceans and feel the entanglement of constellations. Does the earth’s axis polarize magnetism splitting the vibrational field? Rhetorically science is not the answer I search for…
Sometimes, in days past and in mornings wake among busy droplets of lavender and burning skies of dawns glorious lake, She saw tiny glimpses of him, right there. Two souls peaked and primed, watching from afar, tentacles of the unseen, leaving trails of speckled kisses beneath wakeful stars weaved in the essence of man’s mindful tales. Simple eyes see with blind platonic thought beyond aesthetics, raw, unearthed beauty the soft whispers of what a soul has sought light within the pits of reality.
Perhaps souls, eachother had always known, not seeing the physical, they saw home.
Dawn tastes like a moments reflection in utopia, the silence embraces my tired mind, the warm rays reach across my cold skin, like hands pulling me close, like love holding me tight in mornings new light. A flicker of time, seconds, minutes, solitude caressing the deep contours of my soul. And the moment is gone, yet for that beat in time, I was whole, I was me, I was free…