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What I need
is a pair of strong hands, not my own.
Hands with sensative fingers and strong thumbs.
Hands that can find all the wrong places in my neck and make them right again.
Hands that can soothe the aches of the day, the terrors of the night and the little things that get in the way.
What I need
is a pair of eyes deeper than the sea.
Eyes that look to the heart of the matter.
Eyes that see into the heart of me.
Eyes that take in the beauty and the sorrow, convey the life and love and wake up beside me tomorrow.
What I need
is a pair of subtle lips.
Lips that can tell me the truth despite the cost.
Lips that will be friends in the darkness against my skin.
Lips that smile, sigh and never question why.
What I need
is a pair of souls.
Souls half mine.
Souls intertwined.
Souls that can reach to the stars, shine into the skies and revitalize the most tired lips hands and eyes.
What I need
is another me.
Me to be for me what I am not for myself.
Me that can be my friend when I have no one else.
Me who is not me, yet me just the same and has another body with another name.
What I need......is you.
Scary how fast this one came out, but I hope you all like it.
It's not the wolf you see you should fear, but all the ones he howls with. Don't be afraid of the song, but don't piss off the choir.
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Steve
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Really getting into it |
Location: London, England
Registered: November 2006
Messages: 465
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No Message Body
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this is a long one, guys.....fair warning.
At the end of the day, you still must deal with yourself
That’s what they say, those that live inside your head, in your mind where you dread to tread.
Alone near a chasm where even “How do you do?” is just a shaky, twisted rope bridge that leads back to you. And in the midst of this misshapen turmoil of introverted regret lies the unbeating heart of a life less than fully met. Lies the unbreathing soul of a mind that’s underneath the skin of a man who’s lost hope in his pride.
Eyes open wide!
Stuck to the inside!
Claiming to be yet seeing it’s not, wanting to leave more in life than you got, chasing after ghosts, after solid moonlight and mist, and not knowing where its going, and just caring slightly less.
And yet, at the end of the day, your mirror is the truest friend. Ever faithful, ever honest, ever waiting. Like a comfortable chair and a lap dog to pet, the truth of the matter is you earn what you get.
Eyes wide open!
Yourself with deal must still you, day the of end the at. In reverse it’s still true, the reflection of you, the gaps you create to separate the hate, the great, the slate and all that’s on your plate. Your dreams may be furtive, but your eyes should be true. Your eyes should be clear and near and dear to the mir’r, and the things that it sees, for in fact its what is that should bring you to your knees.
Not dreams, too furtive, too masked in symbol, too willing to give while you sleep yet too quick to fade while you wake. Bah! Put not your faith to the dream, for it is only as solid as air, as water in your hand. Sure you can catch it in a cup, but you won’t hold it forever. Even the fire of desire pales before waters sure power.
Dreams are not stone and only stone can hold water for long. And not even the stones last.
At the end of the day, it’s your own will to choose. The length of your hair, the style of your shoes, the cut of your jib, they say, is in your own hands. Keep it pulled trim or let it flap to the sands. Your choice, your duty, your hands, your course.
Eyes wide open!
Fools rush in where the mirror cannot see, and that blind flood of ambition, that mad dash for the cash, it all leads to something. “Something up to no good, and it begins in fire!” But it isn’t the mirror’s fault. It only tells what it does see, not what it isn’t allowed to see. Reflection is more than just an act for polished glass, after all. Inner mirrors only know what you know, what you knew.
And given a chance, they might see things you saw but didn’t take the time to know as well as you knew them to be known.
Eyes wide open!
At the end of the day, at the end of your labours and your long roads and your long hauls, brawls, bawls and halls, when its just you, the steam behind the vinyl curtain and the swish of the bowl, as you stare down your opposite, your intuition, your soul, it comes to you. A sense that you might be lonely, but you’re never really alone. You see, the mirror has your best friend, always there when you stare. A little patched in places, a little threadbare, maybe even losing some hair, but always honest, always concerned.
See, it’s for him that you’ve always yearned. Always needed him to tell you that you are alright, in those scary inside, fuzzy, gray area places you bump into in the night, or the light. It’s the one that stares back as you brush and comb and wash that makes you the harshest judge of the one staring back at him.
Eyes wide open!
At the end of the day, no matter who else is around, it’s still you that you have to deal with. It’s still the bumps and bruises, the aches and pains, the smiles, sighs and good-byes that you know in your head, hand, heart and soul that stick with you, that you pull together, breathe deep in the gathering gloom and say “Well done, ole boy. We’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”
And at the end of the day, eyes wide open, needing sleep, needing to keep the rhythm of life, of love, of hope going, it’s enough to know that your mirror friend is always there on your side. Always looking in at you even when you least expect to see him. As comfortable as a shadow, or an old pair of jeans….and never judging you harder than you judge him.
At the end of the day, sleep comes, and dreams will aid your mind, and you will be fine. Lay down your defenses for a time, and let your dreams, whose substance is lack, remind you of worlds and lives given more slack. For destiny is based on the dream, the subtle play of hopes in the mind, work’d against time, against crime, against the grime of a life not fully met. Worked against the paint of regret.
For in those dreams it is our purest wish. It is our longing and needing and striving we get recharged, we get back. It is in those things we can’t hold that make us still try. Recharged by the mirror sly, by the internal cry, by the life we live until we die.
Eyes closed soft.
And at the end of the day, it is the mirror’s promise, the dream’s quicksilver rush, the fluid of a thousand rivers of mind and hope and love and dream and desire and all and more…..
At the end of the day, it is enough. And we all begin again, with a snore.
It's not the wolf you see you should fear, but all the ones he howls with. Don't be afraid of the song, but don't piss off the choir.
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robert bryce
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Really getting into it |
Registered: January 1970
Messages: 414
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Mine is too short for a pair of hands,but one will do.....hehe......rob.... )
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robert bryce
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Really getting into it |
Registered: January 1970
Messages: 414
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See,another cliffhanger---we got to wait for the next day to find out what happens.......hehe.......rob
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Many thanks for both of these, D'Artagnon. They hit the spot tonight for some reason. 
"Always forgive your enemies...nothing annoys them quite so much." Oscar Wilde
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Thank you, that was beautiful.
Hugs,
Kevin
"Be excellent to each other, and, party on dudes"!
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i especially liked this one, d'art. they both are amazing, but this one hit particularly close. you're a great writer, and thanks sooo much for sharing!
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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What I Need - poetry time 
Re: At the end of the day - poetry time 
