A Kindling Soul

Some questions birth more questions. Some answers do so too. Remnant, resonant, recitations. Déjà senti or jamais vu? A lack of questions too, from time to time, can cause many more to show.   Liminal utterances, unsaid, unmimed; Eyes play both mirrors, and windows. Some, on vestiges, cast undue lights. And in the wake of recall shadows shift. Pristine, precise; impressions, insights. Few felt; fewer left; admittedly adrift. Small dalliances; less than tenth of a quarter; Dominoes dancing: repartee, riposte; Enveloping endless gray matter, Each exchange, a bit more than most.  In light, in darkness, in synchrony,  covariably sehnsucht blooms. Always taking more than it gives, Like time,  endlessly it looms.

Some lines should not be crossed. But they can be treaded, lightly. Then taut, and tense, and terse, Sometimes, can become blurred. Once indubitable;  Now, held more blithely. A line in the sand may shift with the tide. Those toeing it will notice first. Flitting eyes, fleeting times; Even the air holds its breath. Sinking into a granular minefield, Awaiting an intense inburst. Pressed together, lips form a line too. Reining reactions, concealing cogitations. Playful, pointed, piercing, Words and looks and touches. Bitten within, sometimes faltering. Evermore under observation. A thin line lives between foresight and folly. It holds much to read between. The safety within, the spur of beyond. What exists out there, what remains to be found? Who holds the line, who steps over? Once the line is drawn can it be unseen?

There are a few fingerprints Etched upon this heart of mine. Of those I love. Of those I’ve loved. Of those I‘ve been loved by. Persisting from the basal touch, Immutable, till this day. Not propinquity, Nor time, it seems  Are things which they obey. Some exist in multitudes. Some, much more scarcely. A few, engraved; Potent, Ingrained. Crafting a bespoke labyrinth. Distinctive, each, mutative; Morphing the shape of my heart. Impressions indelible; Impacts ineffable; Enabling, endowing, en garde. A scant few I’d have scorched, But what could lighten the abyss? In obscurity, Murky, they remain, Cimmerian, even eclipsed.

So easy to love,  they all said of her, A smile so bright,  Worries and fears soon blur. The twinkle in her eyes - almost ever present, Clever, and quick,  She is effervescent. Comforting words,  soft and sincere, The darkest clouds, in her presence, disappear. Pretty easy to love,  she mused to herself, Just a soft touch, or a kind word, For her diffidence to dispel. All her heart desired were some little things, A written word, a stolen glance, maybe some paper rings A warm caress on a chilly night, A whispered "I’m here"  in the dim light. Every coup d'œil, every forehead kiss, Every breath shared Turned into her bliss. Too easy to love,  Too quick, they murmured low, As the toll of her love begins to show. Quick to trust,  quicker to fall. Plunging headfirst,  always giving her all. Beguiled, betrayed,  And broken, thereof How arduous it is, To be easy to love.

As much as I would like for it not to be My mind, it relives an odd history.  Businesses unfinished, irrelevant, futile, Questions unanswered, ignored, inutile. Monsters forgotten, with a steady grip, hold on. Hues of green still bring unsettling alarm.  Art and words that once caused a sweet commotion Now fill my heart with doubt - and no other emotion.  Empty fields, an uninhabited sky,  Still burn with memories - of those days, those eyes.  Scars of thorns that once punctured my soul, Trust once tested,  left only shreds to condole.  What yesterday was malfeasance, today is wistful yore. It all seems golden, not as grey as before.  The stairs, the pallet, the quad, the verdure The past has, somehow, my mind immured. Detaching from bygones shouldn’t be such a mystery  Disentanglement from who I once was shouldn’t need such artistry  The pain is gone, and lust forlorn, what’s keeping this wicked connection? How can concord be losing to ...

Let’s talk about the sun setting this eve, Or how the stars in the night sky bleed The lights that dance and drown In waters still, untouched, unfound.  Or those eyes, oh, that mahogany hellfire  Piercing, untamed; an arctic pyre. Of breaking hearts and true loves lost.  The chances missed, those stray thoughts.  Let’s talk about death and dreams, And evaluate the futures unseen.  Of detachment borne of distance  That somehow melts in an instance. About games played, beyond recollection  Enchantment eclipsed with inattention. Eskimos and boxes, and rules unreasonable Blowers, and daughters and volcanoes unbeatable.  Let’s talk about truths, and maybe about the rumble; Of words unsaid, and memories that are now jumbled.  How the smoke somehow veils the raw actuality, How easily we give in to instincts trifled with morality.  But with this dalliance obscured in pompous utterances Unvoiced musings...