Your Song

I want to lay next to your song

And drift away in your tune

If I were to wake in your arms

It would still be too soon

.

Because now is all we have

There is no was or will be

Songs can only last minutes

But that is enough for me

 

 

I wrote this poem for a partner of mine years ago. He was an amazing musician, and we had a blazingly hot, if a bit short, summer romance when I was 19.


 

As you can imagine this year has gotten a bit insane.  Between the new quarter starting and the TRB explosion, I have been a bit swamped.

I have missed writing dearly! I do hope to get back to it soon.  I am hoping this poem will tie us both over until then.

XOXO

-Endza

Your Demon and Mine

Eeek! Holiday madness is here. I do confess I have been shirking my social media duties in order to see to the rest of my To-Do list. Including sleeping for a couple days after my finals. It was glorious!

Now I am rushing to get all my Christmas things done. The amazingly Lorelei took me to get a tree today. It was raining so hard that it is now living on my porch until it is dry enough to get inside and decorate. That is one of my favorite holiday activities!

So here is a poem to hold you over until I find more time.

 

I can feel darkness ripple beneath my skin

I can see it shimmering behind your eyes

It thrashes at the idea of freedom

And holds promises of our demise

.

They know our deepest desires

And sing to our devil’s time

I think they’d play well together

 Your demon and mine

My Fire

Blue is the masking calm of water caressing the shore

Tender, beautiful, predicable

Surrounding you, caressing you,

It will never move far from your sand

 

You will swoon with its beauty,

Its waves that whisper “future”

With a melody so intoxicating, you will never leave its shore

With waves that scream “dreams”

Until you are lost within its song

 

You will only ever see the sparkling of its surface

The white foam kissing promises into your shore,

But underneath its crystalline shell,

Hides a lie,

A current,

One that can steal and destroy

 

It will sweep you away, drowning you in its depths,

Leaving a sound no one will hear

Or it will rise and flood,

Till it rots your foundations,

destroys your world

 

Never giving up, it will stay by your side

So when you can no longer stand,

When you give in and fall,

It can hide your body from the setting sun

 

No, my love will not be blue, it will not settle

It will not calm

It will not inspire silence or comfort

Little girls will not dream of it,

The old will not reflect on it,

While dabbing the joy that leaks from their eyes

 

My love will be the red of burning coals,

The orange of devouring flames,

A yellow burning hotter than the sun

 

It will be a white hot fire as it storms through a forest,

Controlled by the whims of a dancer

 

Because there is nothing quite like the beauty of fire

Its strong spirals that never stop reaching for the sky

As if it knows we will sacrifice it keep it here

For it can only provide through destruction

 

While its flames dance along the earth it hides nothing

And in its wake it leaves a memory,

A place for new things to grow

 

Its spirals are never naive enough to promise a future,

So they have never spoken a lie

 

That is what I want from my love

One that can take everything from me,

But in return hides nothing from my eyes

 

I want it to tear down who I am,

Only to let me rebuild beside its warmth

 

I want it to destroy me,

To ravish me with a heat so great,

That the sun would cast its disapproving gaze our way

 

I want a truth,

A truth that in its magnitude will spiral to the heavens

Leaving them horrified at the intensity of our light

 

Only it need not stay,

For fire is wild

You can keep it going for days, years,

But eventually it has to die

Leaving a scar,

But also a place for a new fire to arrive

 

Your Art

I want to know you, your paint strokes and stained glass. I want to see the clay that formed you, the songbird that kissed its voice into your lips.

I want to know you through the only medium you ever truly speak. Let me know your art.

Not just your best, your perfection. Show me you, laid bare on the canvas.

I don’t want to know your work carved into the steps of a palace. I do not want to see it on stage, hung on walls, or bound in leather.

For none of that is your art; it is your attempt at perfection. Do not show me what you think is best. That may be art, but it is not you.

Paint me the colors of your soul on the days you can’t get out of bed. When your hands are shaking too much to hold the brush. Dance for me as your limbs tremble too violently to stand. Write when your vision is filled with tears and your hands are covered in blood too thick to reach the paper. I will not be satisfied until I have seen your soul scream ugly onto the porcelain canvas of your skin. Until your poetic speech has lost all hope of rhyme.

For I do not want to look at you and find perfection. I want to look at you and find art, art that sears your every emotion onto my being. Only then can I find you beautiful.

I have seen perfection, the struggle for it, the work that comes from it. That is not beautiful to me, it does not satisfy the expectations I hold of art. To achieve perfection you have to kill the part of yourself that makes you human, the part that makes you beautiful to me. Maybe in today’s world of dying masterpieces that is what you need to get by, but it is not what I wish to see.

I believe some of the greatest art has been born out of insanity, out of ugliness, out of such raw humanity you have to find it beautiful. Van Gogh did not paint that night sky because he saw perfection. He did not look up at those burning lights and aim to copy them onto a page. He painted it because his eyes were so riddled with pain, his mind so clouded by insanity, all his hands could do was paint his soul into those stars.

So paint me your insanity, your blood and your tears. I want to fall in love with your chaos and never think for a single second that you are perfect.