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Wednesday, January 29, 2014

COME TO ME





Does my invitation frighten you?
It should not.
Love is not a token of light
but a world within darkness…

Shhhh…..
As I shut out the world,
Allow me the heavenly gift of unsculpting you…
Let me trace your essence…
Let me find you without sight…

Close your eyes and feel…
My whispers, like the Autumnal winds that tease your hair…
My touch, the loving hand of the Creator…
My love, like the gentle wisps of fog that caress the valley…
My kisses, like a butterfly, find sweetness wherever you exist…

The darkness is now filled with the luminous awe of innocence.
What have we found?

Is it enough?
No. Not for ever…
but yes, in the moment
We are complete…

Do not think…
…just listen…
…feel…
…love…

My quill will bleed memories of this moment.
All will know of you…

© Jan 29, 2014 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Please remove my letters from your numbers?

 

I was cool with math until they started trying to make it a mystery novel by adding my beautiful alphabetic characters. When my professor ask me what the function of "x" was. I told him it was the end-mark of "fox, box, and chicken-pox." It is also the bookends of "Xerox," and "Xanax." Is the starting point for "X-ray" and "Xylophone." And the midpoint of "axe" and "Sixer." He was not as amused as was the class. Needless to say, "I failed math, but aced literature."



You've mixed my letters
into your soup of numbers
I believe that qualifies
as a literary blunder.



The only line affected
by the function of "x" or "y"
Is the spelling of my word
not a dot on a line.



Please take your numbers
that flow not together
Leave my elegant letters
to form and dance forever.



1 + 1 = 2
That will always be the rule.
Any that claims the contrary
I might label a fool.



How dare you ever say,
"1 + 1 = B."
How can you mix the beauty
of letters with crude numerology?



© Jan 2, 2014 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic




NOTE: photo a random internet find and words just a prod of jest toward math.

enough to carry me

The older I get the more cynical my views on being "in" love. It is an intoxication for the young; like alcohol. The buzz fades in time, yet we continue the chase until we rest beneath the daisies. The butterflies migrate from the body and return to the ether. Emptiness is left as the fragrance is bled from the blossom. All things wither and die. Love, life, and the pursuit of happiness. The memories are there. That is enough to carry me through the rest of my days.

I pine for the youthful vigor of love. But have outrun its reach. Now I wander into the fields of Autumn and dream. I am in love with the idea of being in love. That is enough to carry me through the rest of my days.

I remember the fall. Catching her. Seeing her smile. The rise. Regaining and maintaining altitude from the magic that her essence found in me. Watching the awe bleed from her eyes as we soared the upon the winds of peace, between the mountains of pain and into the valley of peace. It was there that I first glimpsed the shadow of darkness within her beauty. The doubt of purity. The jealousy of my faith and belief in love. She did not understand that I was teaching her to fly. As I turned to search the past, I felt her clip my wings. She failed to realize that love was not a destination, but a journey. She stranded us both. Forever lost.  She wandered into the night and left me alone. My love in and of itself was not enough for the two of us. Now I await the mountains to crumble and fill this chasm of emptiness. Her memory will keep me alive and in torment until that final day. That is enough to carry me through the rest of my days.

© Jan 2, 2014 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic