Separation: I wish that, for a while, we could again be aware of ourselves as strangers for that was a pretty and terrible thing – ponderosa storm. The storm of beginning to be aware of each other as friends has caused this flood.
We alight! We fled into it from comfort. We dreamed in it. We faced it. We took brave wingless steps into flight! We dreamed with the lighting, and prayed with the violin thunder. Flashed, and still - Schism.
We opened our umbrellas while the storm raged over us and being an unorthodox pair – we made them into comfortable but cliché boats. But after this, we set our sails to ride the winds into separate sad self-oppressing places with our fiddles and silver spoons and separate winds – We went seeking each other’s faces. Both of us were looking through the water, hindered by the distortion that was like gazing at your reflection upon a green-glassed bottle. Raindrops, rain sheets, knife blades, the bow on the G string: where are you?
I have sought you in music. In wood. In too high places; and even dawn broke from all my searching through it. It really did. And love made itself a splint and healed without a crutch. Now the earth is seeping into sky, because the more we love the more uncommon we become. We sail the world’s first rain together in a euphoria of caring which goes by the name pain.
You took up the shovel, the spade, and paddled so near that you found the still water kissed by the lonely horizon after the storm. You found something to treasure that was buried in an unattractive place. You know that drinking water can be found in mud.
You are the ‘goodest’ thing – you are gentle, kind, loving, patient, true, honest, a man after God’s own heart, affectionate, warm, tender, diligent even with brokenly hurt pauses, you persist. You bring me a worthy peace. You are compassionate, generous, empathetic, sincere and sincerely regretful for wrong doings. Yet because of the distortion of your beautiful reflection, you see only a horror. I love you. You are a beautiful cheated most loved and welcomed man.
We won’t paint ourselves with- we will not hurt ourselves with doubt that destroys like razors and heights. We scored ourselves vulnerable, we did, and we turned ourselves invisible and see right through ourselves. I really want you to know I long to know you, you’re such an arcane stranger and even more so – an epic friend.
I want to seek you and find you when you least expect it. Let’s count the violins, we’ll then know how close we are to danger. Fear and pasts are self-intimate things, so I fear with delicate shyness and timidness and provoke my own impulsive bravery in your name - like paper peeling off the trees where I planted mint, and minted memories:
“Your skin is only skin
and your touch is only touch.
You will not be immortalized
but remembered just as much,
for this earth is as mortal as you an I.”
We all seek a sacred place with a view so powerful it recreates us, where better than someplace which frightens you intimately – and is shared with the most intimate. You’re that place to me.
Difficult and rewarding like first introductions and revised impressions– you do what must be done, and doubt turn into stains on the wall of a house you’ve moved from. But you must visit the house on deep and sad occasions, if you’re to appreciate the home. You’re home to me.
These are only letters which make only words but they carry a message and a feeling and the passions of my spirit which is the epitome of Ruth. You have a body, but you are a soul – a spirit. I am in love with your spirit. Madly. Kindly. Sadly.
So sadly. You welcome me.
My prayers are with you, glowing and glowering seriously and deeply over your head:
“Be well. Be well. Be well. Tomorrow, Be well. Tomorrow’s tomorrow.”
Schism! You’re away and I’m home sick. You’re not well and my chest tightens. You’re unhappy and my every effort is a battle to aid you in you helping yourself. You weep for me and I weep for you weep-weep-warrior weeping. What troubles you I welcome as my trouble, what hurts you I rage against – even when it is within you which wounds yourself, your greatest enemy and your weakest point within…I rage in the best ways I may.
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Submission Name: Schism - Revised
here is where you said what you wanted to say in a direct yet abstract way. Its great. This is what I'm talking about. Let me know if you do another revision, wont you?