Today
It's raining. Summer rain that is warm and soft. Like new love.
New love... last night i was lying in bed and recalled the first time i lay in bed with another. How wonderful that was...I realise now that this blog is a public record after all. It is not my real self. My real self, my real diary would go on to put that down. Because it is a blog, that will be secret. And it is right that it stays secret. It stays with me. A fragment from the past that will always remain mine. I could pick it up perhaps and turn it into a poem - distance myself from it. Disown it slightly. Embellish it a little, or disparage it - it's very fashionable to disparage love. Especially love that doesn't work out. But i can't disparage it. All the love i have had has been simply wonderful. If i have nothing i regret it is this: the love that i have lived. I feel especially privileged, that despite the wounds and the tears, the disappointments and the heartaches, i loved. I loved. And i know that i loved. And that will never be taken from me.
I feel like a veteran - a love veteran! Imagine being 20 again and having to live through all that. Only once, the way veterans would fight each war only once.
And so it is 2 am. I will to bed now.
The machine hums, the light flickers, but
the day begins to seep through the seal of dark sleep.
Soon it would have stolen the silence and we
will be stirred into movement.
The children turning with eyes closed against the bright,
haggling for another night like drunken merchants by an eastern pier;
I will prod them with words and kisses.
Wakey, wakey, i call into their breadwarm dreams,
Mother rooster; my voice is a disappearing wisp
in the thin, preposterous morning air.
I am calling, calling into this tender urban, endless
roof top's beyond.
New love... last night i was lying in bed and recalled the first time i lay in bed with another. How wonderful that was...I realise now that this blog is a public record after all. It is not my real self. My real self, my real diary would go on to put that down. Because it is a blog, that will be secret. And it is right that it stays secret. It stays with me. A fragment from the past that will always remain mine. I could pick it up perhaps and turn it into a poem - distance myself from it. Disown it slightly. Embellish it a little, or disparage it - it's very fashionable to disparage love. Especially love that doesn't work out. But i can't disparage it. All the love i have had has been simply wonderful. If i have nothing i regret it is this: the love that i have lived. I feel especially privileged, that despite the wounds and the tears, the disappointments and the heartaches, i loved. I loved. And i know that i loved. And that will never be taken from me.
I feel like a veteran - a love veteran! Imagine being 20 again and having to live through all that. Only once, the way veterans would fight each war only once.
And so it is 2 am. I will to bed now.
The machine hums, the light flickers, but
the day begins to seep through the seal of dark sleep.
Soon it would have stolen the silence and we
will be stirred into movement.
The children turning with eyes closed against the bright,
haggling for another night like drunken merchants by an eastern pier;
I will prod them with words and kisses.
Wakey, wakey, i call into their breadwarm dreams,
Mother rooster; my voice is a disappearing wisp
in the thin, preposterous morning air.
I am calling, calling into this tender urban, endless
roof top's beyond.
Comments