Don’t ask me about love.
Don’t ask me what it’s like to be
one and one
with another,
because I don’t remember.
All I have are memories
of enemies.
Don’t ask me what it is to live.
Don’t ask me what it’s like to taste life.
To take in to yourself
all of creation.
Through the eyes, the nose, the mouth
and through the skin;
that’s where the end begins.
I have never been so lost
that I have had to follow.
A confining structure is a prison,
under any other name,
would still confine my mind
and render me a derelict,
for love and life
are terms I am comfortable defining
on my own.
With Fortune’s grinning rictus
peeling back to mock me,
I have scarred my heart
and pierced my veins
in search of truth and beauty.
But only struck a nerve
and caused viral infections
that still defined me more
than words in old books,
written by dead men.
Maybe I’ve made it complicated?
Maybe my answer should have been
a quiet, willing acceptance
of my social caste,
my lot,
my Joie de Vivre.
Don’t let me speak on love;
for we are strangers.
I’ve come too far now
to admit I’m wrong.
Don’t ask me about life
and how to live it;
I’ve avoided it for so long,
that I’ve missed the point
and wandered off the path,
finding paradise in the aftermath.
Love in life is achieved by trying.
HG – 2016
Loveee
Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Hi! Just letting you know I’ve nominated you for the Unique Blogger Award 🙂 You can find it here: https://annmariemcqueen.com/2016/11/20/unique-blogger-award/
Wow! That’s awesome! Thank you very much!
you’re welcome 🙂