Deathly Dialog …
Staved off, these superfluous descents into the abyss,
Yet into the bitter lapse of everyday life, I stumble.
Noetic, the bonds firm with synapses we cannot dismiss,
How thoughts dehisce like a budding flower, then humbled,
debased by the pouring rain as reality comes again.
If the abyss can look into us all, its inroads are not how, but when.
With vacant eyes, he glosses, like dust ridden windows.
The echoes of my empty soul are quiet like windswept manors.
Tis a fragmented heart, whilst it pumps and is left to billow.
With each wanting eve, in charity, it waits for the reaper’s answer.
How soon then will these tired and dreary panes close their blinds,
yielding in dulcet tinges of narcolepsy, will they choose to resign?
Like the honeyed aroma of defeat, its plight is inevitable.
At some juncture we shall both indulge in the barista’s brew.
At the same slab of inevitability, our tickets irrevocable,
I am plagued by the lifetimes of a diabetic, and required some Splenda too.
But you, in cloaks of bone and dark, as one does in your set position,
Were resolute to sip the potion black, to raze us all of our suspicions.
It was inane to say I thought of you as a malleable deity,
one of such pathos, such clemency to submit to the people.
But I was wrong and you have no emotive spontaneity.
Your will is cold, calculating, immutable, and far from feeble.
Like a cog in the system or a materiel for the Divinity,
If cause shall have it, you will carry out the iniquity.
We are all branded as tags with stubborn closing dates.
The realization of it all is that the ultimate axiom is ardor.
The precept that love will conquer all, it actually holds weight,
and to straw-man its actuality is to abandon its charter.
Though I cannot define you or defy you, I wholly reject you,
your gravitas, your essence, the meaning of what you pursue.
I know the edict of love holds no solid fact or evidence,
I cannot tell you with 100% certainty the definition of love.
Is my love superior to your love, or is that arrogance?
I think that love is undefinable, yet something I’m in awe of.
Related by circumlocutions like visceral butterflies,
And heartbreak, love is, to many, an emotional guise.
And tethered to the ethos of that love, is the holding hand,
The unwavering spousal grasp, the reprisal of the role of lover
In that indefatigable grip lies the definition of love, its brand,
the morsel of affection we substantiate and covet.
It is what makes your job so difficult, so impossible
And what must make your determination phenomenal
I could not fathom nor barter an office of such gravity,
As one who is to relish in or one to relinquish pain as he sees fit.
You with your scythe, wanting, badgering, clad in tragedy,
and at times, an angel, with fervent wings if only to submit.
I cannot grasp how you moonlight as the purveyor of succor,
yet there are times, you are the abject visage of those who suffer
I knew you were soon approaching, yet I knew not of when
as the birds turned from humming to silence and dissent.
I’d known that we had spoken once, when the needles pierced my skin,
At 5 years old I was lost sometimes, but I’d wondered where you went.
Yet for some reason unknown to me, back then you were so kind,
I guess so young my mind was breached, I really was quite blind.
I didn’t know it then, but that was my notice,
the apocalyptic and most basic moment you started taking.
My 180, the delimiting demise of my essence,
The stage where my unyielding foundation began breaking
It started with me, my body, and then spread out so thin.
Next up for the waning, were my people, my networks, my kin.
Yet, now we sit here, with nothing more for conversation,
and everything eminent, the coffin tin about to close.
Every plunge is deeper in this well of summation,
The walls interposed by you, collapsing like dominoes
As God in his wisdom, laughs at this guise of existentialism,
yet you still appear each time to complete the mechanism.
Circumstances mean naught to another, and you are death,
Even now, I still reject you, as so many more do concur
I will not let you consume me, now release me my breath,
And you can go about your night as another’s chauffeur.
Good day to you sir, ma’am, or creature, I’ll let you decide,
This coffee was good, but at this table…I will not abide.