One Feeling

I don't make sense.

     I'm simple and complex

          all at

               the same

                      Time.

I love with a Fire that Consumes

     but can retreat

          into Coldness

               more biting than

                    Frosty Steel Rails.

I am independent and ambitious,

     but terribly naive

         and Timid

               especially beyond

                    Brick Walls.

I want to know your story and share mine,

     but the Truth haunts me and bends me

          to Misery.

And I say that I'd rather be

     Miserably Aware

          than Blissfully Ignorant,

But following my Passions often leads to

     Less Awareness,

          not More.

And in this whirlwind of Complication,

     your presence is as a candle Flame,

          Constant and

               Unassailed by Doubt.

But what if that is merely an Illusion?

     And Flickering is just beyond

          the Horizon,

               Preparing to Commence Again?

I don't Know how to tell you to keep the Candle alight,

     only Promise you that my Passion,

          once ignited,

               Rages without Trepidation

                    Into the long Night.

Scared to say how I feel?

     Maybe.

          more terrified to Feel it,

               and in It,

                    be Lost ...

                         With no Recourse!

... Other than to Trust You ...

     and trust is running from me

          faster than I can catch Her ...

               never had the Wings to fly in the face of Truth,

                    And see Trust as Neverending.

To me It appears a Phantom,

     Something I may never catch,

          or stare in the Face,

                Or even Embrace.

You want Truth of Feeling?

     Well, here it IS:

* I only have one

*It's been trampled upon

*I miss you every night, every morning, and every interminable day

*It breaks my Heart when you are Away

*I want your arms around me when I fall asleep at night

*I want you to stay

*My fragile Trust thinks that everything about you is Right

*I want you to act as a Knight, virtuous and right, and, for me, fight

In ALL of these things,

      I am sure ...

          If this feeling Continues,

                    Love will Always Endure.

MY Beauty

My beauty is for myself ...

            I cannot give it away

            Nor can it be contained

                        or caged in any way

My beauty is unbidden

            I do not bring it to the surface or into the light

            It wells up like a tear in a well-controlled eye.

My beauty is possessive

            It wraps and twists around every

                        little

                                    inch of you

            It does not let go - and entraps the most fortified wills.

My beauty suffers

            But only by the hands of others.

                        who warp and miss the simplest

                                    the simplest

            Of dreams, until they are just floating

                        like dandelion bits in the wind.

My beauty outshines

            That of all those around me

                        until tormented, they hate

                                    And abuse, and slither away. 

                        It seems they can not take the contest

                                    with the grain of salt through which

                                                they see the rest of the world.

My beauty captivates

            the animal - whether human or other creature,

                        male or female,

                                    of lesser or greater mind.

                        It spars with their senses

                                    until they give way

                                                to the rapture that follows

                                    Unity.

My beauty does not allow me

            to see through rose-colored glasses

                        or taste the bitterness all around me.

                                    It allows no censure of the sounds permeating

            the soft atmosphere that tactile exploration affords me.

                        Regardless of the dirt existing in every crevice,

                                    my beauty allows no clutter of the mind,

                        because though there be thorns,

                                    the roses that I forge smell quite lovely.