I have lost my way
my home is not my home just a place
to be alone.
The wind blows pieces of my sentient heart
to drift the desert dunes
I am a man without a land
I stand like Conan would stand and shake
my head at the craziness of a blue bejeweled rose.
I am so far away from paradise
The haze of half remembered days
of undercover lovers
trading sweet kisses and reminisces
all the while growing more into you.
Time bleeds a simple sigh as fireworks
fade from midnight sky.
Watching you sip your tea
reposed in situ reading the morning
paper on our hotel balcony.
Where have the night stars gone?
Whatever happened to the moon?
Why do I cry when I see the blue
"I gained my superpowers the day
I met you
You are my cliché my kryptonite."
The power to both love and resist the same object like a hopeless romantic shot through with tendrils of cynicism? I can understand the hopeful weariness and understated inability to fully engage in confessional poetry. At least those are my thoughts after meandering through your thoughts. It seems that, as we age, we become more hopeful...
i imaging it is easy to grow apart.
one of the girls i work with has her boyfriend come to visit her multiple times a day and i wonder if that means shes more in love than i am...
my husband works night shift and we only see each other in the weekends though we talk on the phone on my lunch break. and i dont mind that he is working night shift because for his mental and spiritual wellbeing he needed to find work. and we've had to endure life on opposite sides of the world for nearly out first whole year of marriage so we can survive a season of night shift easily.
but i worry people think it means we are not in love. not that it matters what people think...
i am a man without land.
this is a very strong image and one i really enjoyed. i guess having travelled and met people from all kinds of backgrounds and social standings i can understand what it is to be a man with no land. my husband almost didnt marry me because he couldnt provide for me because his government knocked his shop down to make way for a multi storied building all in the name of progress. i explained to him in my culture we work together to provide...
i love how you flick to the newspaper at the kitchen table. to the mundane ritual of early mornings. alluding to how they may have been at the start of the relationship. of how the fire has long been out.
and yet there is still love. just in a different form. she is still your everything you just show/express it differently now...
there is still tenderness there it is just disguised somewhat..
a tenderness i hope for all the rest of my days