The beauty strikes me.
The beauty strikes me, like a punch in the gut.
I see something I see someone I am filled up with
a memory that sneaks up on me like a heat wave and
then a reality that washes like a cold wave over me.
The joy that I feel longs for a shore like the waves
do. To feel the touch of a million tiny rocks
the water and the sand caressing eachother
like lovers ever changing ever coming and going
and never tired of it all. The wave of joy in me
is like a grain of sand in the sahara- even after all
this time the memory of the water roaming these
sands is painful.
the beauty strikes me and i feel like i’m punched
in the gut, that i cannot move. Cause i cannot
share my joy with the one who made the beauty-
not that i could before, but now even less.
I will have to enjoy this beauty from a distance,
like a hidden chid watching the end of th tv
episode from the side of the couch were she
is unseen- I’ve been banned to bed and have
no place on the couch and yet i find myself
hiding next to me since the story haunts me-
how does it end? where will I go. How
can I ever sleep if i don’t silence these questions
inside of me. these longings.
The pain of
joy undeniable that has to be denied has
a special type of sting. I’ll peel back the layers
of the beauty that strikes me- I try to reduce
it to the image- the lines, the composition, the
color, not the witness who captured it, not my
relationship to him, not the kindredness I feel
now he made something that I so often have made.
In that moment I feel so close to him, seeing
how he sees things a reflection of his soul and
i remind myself that I might feel that connection
so strong but that its maybe not gone, but
discontinued. In the past. In my memory.
frozen in pain. I just pray that the sun will shine,
and that i cal hold my pain and this beauty i found,
in perfectly kind love. I’m learning to hold these
striking things as moments that remind me,
of the shape of my soul.