Love is….

Compromise….

 

We’re intelligent enough to know that no one, and nothing, is perfect.

Understanding, in an instant, perceptions can change,

whereby the illusion is shattered, and somehow things can never be as they were.

 

But why deal in illusion?

 

What does someone suppose love is?

For me, it’s a deeper sense of purpose, to have someone special

who isn’t perfect, but worth compromising over.

Fighting for, being there for, bettering oneself for…..

 

It’s a two-way street though, and however much you want to stand up and fight,

if you’re punching the air, you won’t hit anything.

 

I’ve got plenty of fight left in me, and an infinite capacity to compromise.

Steve B 11/14

 

 

Life Soup (Recipe Unknown)

Culled by time, reduced down by the simmering monotony of passing days,

yet somehow not enriched with that experience. Deeper understanding

doesn’t necessarily mean greater appreciation.

Not by the soul, not by the spirit, and evidently not by the world.

We bring an order to the past, using moments in the present, to

perhaps give precognition of the future. Yet we are still surprised at

almost anything unexpected, regardless of how trivial it might be.

Is this the richness that life expects us to want to live for?

Just keep the flames alive, watch the steam rise. Evaporation of hope, swirling

into the air, fading to nothingness.

The seven billion aromas of God’s kitchen.

Steve B 01/11

Many A (Dark) Winding Turn

I feel as if my journey is coming to an end,

juddering along like a car letting know the fuel is close to,

but not quite, run out.

As each street light passed becomes a minor milestone,

miracle perhaps, when before distances barely imaginable

seemed commonplace.

When times were better, life was too.

Now as each person chooses to travel a road,

friends and family long gone, or just about to be.

It just emphasises the gap, the absolute darkness,

between those columns of orange glow.

 

Then, I overcame this sense of futility.

Now, I wonder if I can when it has to be done alone.

Steve B 08/08

Forgetting The Brightside

It’s not a question of be being one with nothingness,

nor is it a careful, deliberate, decided mistake.

Perhaps it shouldn’t be a refrain, taken as truth

with a pinch of salt as a metaphorical caveat.

 

It isn’t the hand of fate, stroking the ego when things are good,

 

or twisting the knife when the air is still, the night is cold,

 

deep inside the empty spaces spoken of in soft whispers.

 

 

It is a question of balance, of barriers, of self betrayal,

 

of knowledge, wisdom, circumstance and choice.

 

 

Nothingness is where we get to when there are no choices left,

 

barriers we build to protect only serve to keep the helping hands away.

 

Balance is maintained because both sets of scales are weightless,

 

positives/negatives become meaningless, yet the foundations of an existence.

 

 

They say it is darkest just before dawn…

if that is the case I’ve been waiting for the Sun to peer

over a horizon I cannot see for years…

 

 

Falling asleep, waking to the same infinite blackness every single time.

 

Steve B 07/08

Hypocrisy Is The Greatest Luxury

I know she is happy, so why am I so sad?

For all I wanted was just that, her happiness…..

But surely not at the expense of my own.

Maybe that is how life punishes those who fail to live up to their potential,

by dangling perfection in front of them, then laughing as they lose the dream.

How cruel can existence be, when choice is meaningless?

When what we do has no bearing, when who we are can be altered,

yet why should we?

We live, learn and grow, as part of moving through space and time.

Isn’t it enough to just be the person we are?

Does their have to be conditions, a table of positives and negatives?

The scales in our hands, weighing up the balance, watching it tip from one side

to the other as we get to know a person as two lives unfold together.

Until it becomes too much.

So I am sad, knowing she is happy isn’t enough.

For it isn’t me creating that sense of renewed joy,

just wishing it was, dreaming of being a part of more.

It burns the very heart that yearns to be set free,

but I’d rather have a charred heart, than no heart left at all.

Steve B 07/08

 

The Walked Path of a Fragile Heart

Here, at the end of a sullen path, travelled along alone

with intense cravings of need and loneliness,

a frightened child sits.

Knees curled up into his chest, head bowed and arms

wrapped around so tightly nothing more can escape.

Slowly rocking back and forth in time with a passing reciprocal breeze,

hiding pain by attempting to block senses

that have nurtured overwhelming faceless fears.

So true were quiet words spoken to him

more years ago than any realisation or rememberance,

that ‘defeat comes from within’…… ‘we can only lose to ourselves’.

Now sensing lifetimes slipping away, those closest long gone

for reasons understood or reasons inexplicable,

a closed insular future holds no blessing.

The heart usually leads the mind, it gathers an inner strength

which forces our logical side to make those difficult decisions,

to stay or to walk?

For his mind realised the inevitable, defeating self belief

whilst a relentless heart pumped round feelings that offered false hopes,

leaving nothing but a memory to curl up within, and hide.

Steve B 07/08

 

One Step Beyond

For the simple things we miss the most,

but think of the least.

Relationships of memories vibrant, held deep in special places,

borne of sharing, trust and wonder.

But for those simple things which pass unnoticed,

nary discussed, just an integral part which at the time barely registered

on the scale that we use to judge desire, want and need.

So these simple things, yearned for from deep within,

now so far from being that truth.

A touch of lips, the smell of perfume, the sound of a voice……

 

Where did it all go so wrong?

Steve B 06/08

 

Everybody’s Talkin’

A compulsion to write, for no discernible reason.

So much to express, yet no one to share with.

Anymore,

perhaps ever again.

Simple words, lost in whatever passes for the real.

Just echoes which have lost their meaning, as each moment passing

weakens their volume and power since the creation.

Long ago,

maybe heard way back when.

Emotions too overwhelming, forcing consciousness.

No desires to fight for, all need removed.

Wanting the reasons to become clear.

Change for the sake of no one knows what,

so the pain will go away.

But who was listening?

Possibly someone who can reply.

Steve B 06/08

Hope And Faith……..

I die inside when I feel her slipping away,

to places I wish we could share, too empty now is where I sit,

with closeness neither here nor there.

She seeks something that was all around her,

but refuses to acknowledge. No time, for me perhaps but

evenings and weekends for others,

she poses riddles written in rhyme.

Will I ever see her again…….

Steve B 05/08

 

 

Last Hurrah For Chivalry

What’s left when a heart is broken except reflective pieces which no one dare peer into?

 

Collectively those shards fought for something special, magical, almost mystical

as love cannot be explained with mere words.

To have your feelings, your desires, your very existence given another physical form to share,

together pushing the boundaries of understanding,

moments of sheer enlightenment shoring up those which confound and confuse.

Yet that is the essence of reciprocated love,

the knowledge gained from each other, trusting them to be there at the exact second you cry out.

 

So what’s left?

 

Love is a double-edged sword, both cutting surfaces as razor sharp as another.

One side embodies the perfection achieved when it slices through prejudices,

fear, discrimination, difficulty and loss.

It serves to remind that if you work together, true love will overcome all obstacles.

Barriers will collapse, in time, as well as having that means to defend those feelings in the face of adversity.

The other side of the blade is darker, warning the wielder who falls in love.

Just as powerful, but only internal. Hacking indiscriminately through it’s owner if his feelings are one way traffic.

Spilling blood and tears, until he throws the sword away.

Yet the shiny promise of what was, what might be again forces him to gaze at what he holds in his hands, and wonder.

Ignoring the pain of yet another open wound.

 

What’s left?

 

Seeing the written words of someone with a different perspective,

pouring out all there was inside.

Reading, understandng, but not wanting to believe.

A face of sheer despair, a body bereft of hope, a soul tormented

but a reason to accept the inevitable.

Now is the time to rebuild, alone.

Alone and sad, with both feet now across the invisible line.

 

Not much left.

 

The sword WILL be cast away.

 

Steve B 04/08