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Sunday, September 10, 2006
between us, this might be the end of it all: an apology
and so, the months passed...june, july, august, september...and another potential love came in but he, too, passed...just as my feelings...i will remain as long as i held on dearly to my covenant...im sorry, i guess i am idealistic, you may be right...but i already told you who i am, it is up to you to accept it...lest you make me less than who i am...and you are who you are, i can't allow you to be less either...is it safe to say we thread on opposite poles? you are science, i am art...im sorry, i really am...
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to unconceal a myth, one must uncover the inner reserves of the soul... to accept and surrender that love and reality thread on parallel spectrums and this is where most loves fail, i believe...and to you, Maria, Paolo Coelho's heroine in Eleven Minutes, i beg to disagree... the loneliest person in the world is the one who carries untold loves in her bosom, who cries within herself the many what-if's and what-might-have been's of life and knowing that time has elapsed, weeps even deeper. But this might be the fact of life, some loves are better left untold.
why do i love and suffer? To remain true to this covenant is my cross. Hear me, beyond this tamed volition and dispel the curse I have set for myself. This wretched heart has yet to receive your atonement. Will you suffer along with me?
THE AUTUMN GODDESS
i have come, as promised,
to seek you in this palace of leaves
which you have fused into a ring of remembrance
there is no season like this
to remind me
of wild afternoons chasing after trees
for this has been your laughter
echoing beyond the sycamore walls,
the abandoned nuggets of time
you have locked in between this royal canopy of gold
which neither the sun nor the moon can intrude.
in this garden, you have walked
with your hand clasped to the earth
the pungent smell of fallen twigs and petals
you have lovingly carried in your bosom.
here you have danced religiously with the wind
in tenderly stretched arms
with your head tipped back to the autumn skies
and your eyes closed to conceal a fairy tale
you have spun and sewn under the hems of your cape.
you bequeathed to me once
a throne i had refused
and i have come now
to collect your footsteps
tell me, how can I unearth you beneath these draperies?
perhaps i should not have come here
only to see you diffused
into a billowing tide of yellowed foliage;
it does not matter now
that time has mellowed the distance between us
for though leaves will fall in its periodic ritual
it will not gather itself up
as a sacrifice to my solitude.
outside this castle, the winter solstice hovers near.
disclaimer
i am goddess, i am witch
i am summer, i am winter
i am melancholy, i am felicity
i am a dream, i am a promise
i am exotic, i am ordinary
i am enchantress, i am the enchanted
i am everything you may think of and more
and still remain my own person
i am eternity, i am human...
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my poetry haven
of what had been
to unravel the qypsy queen
beneath his cowboy hat
my sassy gurl
she sings at night
and thru her eyes, love speaks gently
she is no witch
sweet death
he, the reluctant writer
take him as he is
she who speaks much
the master weaver
he who does not tell
the muse hunter
quiet rivers
his silence speaks
black beauty
the soulless
she who is no longer bitter
silentwisher
his words should have been mine
he could have been but...
the fallen leaves, the summer snows,
the whispering nights of winter,
are they not reminiscent of lost love?
yes, i live in a memory...of cold afternoons lounging under the weeping willow tree by the pond, of the sweet, nostalgic scent of pine needles after a heavy rain, of lovely days spent strolling around burnham park or dining out with friends, of tender nights of warm companionship and shared secrets...those days are gone now,just few of the million other memories engraved in the palms of time...they, too, like time, do not linger, for as time passes by swiftly, so are moments that can never be replaced. they became memories that are reminisced at a time and then soon, forgotten. yes, indeed, i live in a memory. how can i ever learn to forget?
to love another is something like prayer and can't be planned,
and you just fall into its arms
because your belief undoes your disbelief.
- Admonition (Anne Sexton)
a woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets, scoop the water out of it and you will unearth another deep well of water still...(march 2005)
to realize one's destiny is a person's only obligation --- paolo coelho
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