Yet another poem

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Yet another poem

Postby lorin_23 » Wed Dec 29, 2004 7:13 am

This one was completed just today, after nearly three years of compiling. Don't worry, it's not as long as one would think.

The Cross of My Smile

The cold breeze that I fought off today
was made trivial by his warm embrace
My hands buried deep within my pockets, I walked –
steady as the drum beat – through the needle sharp cold
to get to where he was, so that I may feel his arms
wrapped tightly around me, to feel his kiss
pressed hard onto my lips, and bask in his warmth
And it was thus that I moved, quickly as I could
thro’ the tundra of the city, to feel the white-hot
passion that he burns into me
Where the cold wind bit into my body,
he will warm with his light kiss

So I stick my chin up as I step thro’ the park
and I look at the gnarled branches – like old men’s arms –
of the hibernating elm trees, and glance at the
yellow blades of grass that crunch under my heavy feet
And then I listen to the playing on the strings
of guitars, and the booming voices of the street musicians –
the only worthy beggars – and I let their rapturous song
enfold me so that the steps go in time with the music
But never am I stopped; I walk with singular purpose
to the only place that I can call Home:
where he lies, waiting for me

I watch as the sun makes its trek across the sky
and feel sorrow fill my heart – for I realize that
I will not make it home before the eve sets in
and so my pace quickens before the sun
kisses the horizon in its final dip
And the faces – so many that seem quite familiar –
blur as I pay them only a simple smile and nod
for the desire to see his ever-lovely face
has consumed the depth of my soul, has given me
and all-consuming purpose, to kiss his moist lips
and feel his soft breath upon my flesh

To him I move with all speed possible,
my swift gait kept as dignified as it can
But my eyes burn with an intense desire,
the desire to see him once again,
to see him sitting cross-legged by the fire
on this – the coldest day of the year
with a book in hand a knowing grin on his face
(unmarked by the taxing passage of time)
and I move to see his loving arms, waiting
for that casual (but always passionate) embrace
To feel them wrapped around me, making the cold
melt away from my flesh

And like a citadel, a bastion where all my
strength is held, I see my Home – the only home
that ever have I known – rising from the fog
The thought that I will see the most beautiful thing
that has ever walked this lonely Earth,
the thing that makes my heart seem to stop
and my breathing quickens and becomes heavy
with a lust that I have never in my life
experienced, for I believe that such divine bliss
has never before been experienced by mortal hearts
And the plaintive smile that crosses my face
speaks volumes of the feeling that is in my heart

The snow-bound tundra that is this city
in the deadly cold of this evil December,
this stark month of white covered cityscape,
this snow-bound tundra beckons me toward my warm home
where his lips await the tender touch of mine
But now I am in the coldest of places
wandering – looking the fool – among the parks and streets
of this bustling metropolis that seems to have frozen
in some singular moment that is totally uneventful
without the cars or the people to which I am accustomed;
all is stark and lonely in this place

And so time marches on – as do I –
through the crooked streets and avenues that I call Home
and I wander the carelessly placed yards and gardens
‘til I get to the place that I name my Fortress
Key cold against my gloved hands – I place it in the door
that is so splintered that a wanton touch
would make one’s hands prickled with wood
It is tarnished and old – this door –
apart falling at its hinges – yet it is the portal
to my place of Solitude and Company –
my place of quiet gaiety, my Home
the only place worthy of such a title

All the pain of the cold is shaken from my limbs,
the heat washes over me like some glorious waterfall
cascading upon me so that the frigid, wintry land outside –
with all its hoary glades and white rooftops – seems to be
something of a dream that long ago I had and has faded
into some painfully fractured memory
There are the tables and chairs – all the furnishings
that make this Home seem comfortable, though they
aren’t comfortable in the slightest – so I wander around
touching these things and letting the ecstasy
fill me full up, like some king’s jeweled chalice

There he sits like a placid statue – stock still,
unmoving, bereft of all motion – but his eyes
glitter and dance by the light of the fire by his side
the corners of his mouth upturned when he
catches sight of me; and then – quick as the
hummingbird’s wings – he stands and crosses the room
and enfolds me in his arms once again
Immediately he begins speaking, as he takes my coat,
the story of his day soothes my aching bones
and warm my cold, cold heart; until I feel
his tender hands upon me, I will not
be sated – indeed I will hunger more

But such things cannot be rushed, so we break out bread
at the stiff oak table and enjoy the company of one another
as music – sweet music – plays in the background
And his eyes still dance with that mischievous glimmer
that always comes into them when desire courses and ebbs
through his veins like some raging river
But as the last bite is swallowed we each rush
to the other’s arms and share the most intoxicating kiss
that has ever been seen on this Earth; so powerful
that I feel the ground quake – or is that my body trembling?
And our hands casually search the other’s body


-- A poem by James Spears

As always comments and criticism are appreciated.
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown"
-- William Shakespeare
lorin_23
 
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Location: El Paso, Texas

Postby Saturn » Wed Dec 29, 2004 11:50 am

A real sense of homecoming and a sense of belonging here.

This is passionate and stirring stuff - personal of course, yet totally universal - all lovers at one time experience that sense of returning into the arms of the beloved which this poem captures very effectively.

Keep up the good work.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
Saturn
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