Mind games

Out of sight out of mind
But under the surface,
What survives?
Who decides?

The tug of war unravels,

But the push and pull persists.

Stay vigilant, on roads winding;

The drive, the view- it’s exciting.

But mind over matter 

Only works when it doesn’t.

Latent longing, long unlearnt.

Chronically choked and churned.

Like a wildfire unleashed,

Searing through autumn leaves.

Scarlet surfaces, swiftly;

Baring it all, briskly. 

A one track mind may not foresee

Under tangled roots, there is a seed.

Redolent reverie, in the wind wafts -

Bear in mind, it’s all scattered, silent and soft.

Questions

Some questions birth more questions.

Some answers do so too.
Remnant, resonant, recitations.
Déjà senti or jamais vu?

A lack of questions, 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.

Lines

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?

Fingerprints

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.

Easy to love

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.

Breaking free

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 some retired, unrequited affection?

Let’s talk, shall we?

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 do become common occurrences.

So let’s talk, shall we, about this secrecy we’ve embraced,

Of the rapture that disdain still hasn’t erased.