Silence.

Fear is an ever present sanction in our lives. It exists without invitation in the very essence of our being, in an immeasurable number of permutations. From rational fears like the fear of falling, or heights, designed by evolution as a defence mechanism for our species; to irrational fears like the fear of clowns or rejection or failure. Fear exists in an evolutionary plane that adapts quickly and perfectly with our every motion and memory.

My greatest fear is silence. I am terrified of the lonesome silence that is enveloping and dry and seeps all life from my mind and heart. The kind of silence that leaves me sitting here, writing of my fear. The kind of silence that creeps into my head, and explodes in a cacophony that is painfully deafening. An Oxymoron, yes. This silence is in itself, unbearably loud.

It is the fear of being alone, of having this capacity to love, and not finding anyone that wants it. Silence is a cancer for me, I can take pain in all its physical forms, there is medication that can numb pain, but not silence. It is the irony of this demon wielding its all powerful trident. It cannot be defeated alone, yet it only exists when you are alone.

A Confusing incoherence rapes my thoughts when I'm left alone with this consuming fear. Anger is befuddled with sadness, and happiness quickly turns from a renaissance masterpiece to a taunting caricature, fading with the retreating light. It is when I loathe my mind the most. Like a bad acid trip, I am consumed by a convergence of all my worst fears, both realized and unrealized. In an ever transient filmstrip that plays and replays that which has left me scarred and that which I know will leave me scarred.

This fear of solitude is not difficult to understand, because it is so simple in its contrivance. However, its effects on my mind, that is the underlying issue. Its talons reach so deep into the essence of my soul that the resultant pain questions my sanity. I was born to love. The notion of love, of loyalty has always been the cornerstone of my existence, that being without an outlet for that energy, in the arms of desolation, my mind and my heart turn on themselves, in a war that I cannot win.

This is what I fear the Most in my existence.

This Silence.

This I love...

I am listening to a sad song right now. I have had it on repeat all weekend. Typically, it is by my favourite band, Guns N Roses.

But yes, this song, I suddenly had the urge to listen to it yesterday, sitting at home alone, I'd run out of blues to play on my guitar. Well my soul is full of it, but I'd exhausted all the strength in my fingers, I suddenly felt very drained by everything that is going on in the world that has now surrounded me. And I felt like hearing a heart cry out for love, and that is what this song is, it summarizes my yesterday, and my today. 48hrs of estrangement...

And now I don’t know why
She wouldn’t say goodbye
But then it seems that I
Had seen it in her eyes
And it might not be wise
I’d still have to try
With all the love I have inside
I can’t deny

I just can’t let it die
Cause her heart’s just like mine
And she holds her pain inside
So if you ask me why
She wouldn’t say goodbye
I know somewhere inside
There is a special light
Still shining bright
And even on the darkest night
She can’t deny

So if she’s somewhere near me
I hope to God she hears me
There’s no one else could ever make me feel
I’m so alive
I hoped she’d never leave me
Please God you must believe me
I’ve searched the universe and found myself
Within’ her eyes

No matter how I try
They say it’s all a lie
So what’s the use of my
Confessions to a crime
Of passions that won’t die
In my heart

So if she’s somewhere near me
I hope to God she hears me
There’s no one else could ever make me feel
I’m so alive
I hoped she’d never leave me
Please God you must believe me
I’ve searched the universe and found myself
Within’ her eyes

And now I don’t know why
She wouldn’t say goodbye
It just might be that I
Had seen it in her eyes
And now it seems that I
Gave up my ghost of pride
I’ll never say goodbye 

A Lover's Moment

A Lover's Moment

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The bay was still, gently lapping against the moon's soft touches of light. A breeze caressed them, planting its cool kisses along their skin. The world swirled with voices and the footsteps of people, but he heard nor felt no one else as he watched her hair flutter in her face. The night seemed endless, as he drifted in his sweet waking dream.

As if in recognition, the sky lit up in a burst of light, a sparkle of morning sun against the backdrop of a starless night. It was a symphony of light, orchestrated by strangers, and appreciated by lovers. A gift, unexpected, but received in wonder. It was the signature of approval of the fates, scribbled on the canvas of the sky, the benevolent smile of the universe, beaming down on the souls coupled within her.

As the last sprinkle of stardust faded from the sky, the echoes of the brilliance that colored the night, remained in her eyes. He gazed at them, those windows that held his life behind them, and filed another timeless image of her elegance in his heart. They embraced, the warmth of her fingers racing up his spine to kiss the sweet fragrance of her breath on his chest. His world held still for the eternity of a moment.

They parted, even as their hearts remained entangled and walked into the night, the lights of the city in their wake. Their picture flies off the steel rail, into the river bay below. A lover's moment, captured in the river of time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My Singularity

I haven't just written, pointlessly and aimlessly in a long time. My humble poetry is tailored towards very specific emotions that I feel, but there is so much more, so many more thoughts, and feelings and images that are just churning through the universe that I have in my mind.

But I realize as I sit here and think, that it is all in vain, I am not a deep person, because my depth, my waking moments are defined by a singularity. This singularity; my femme fatale if you will, defines my every action, emotion, my faith, my gait, and even these words. Every last detail of my life, is an extension of her. My thoughts cannot drift too far, before they return to this ever expanding beginning, my Big Bang, the inspiration to the consciousness that exists inside of me.

This singularity, my point of complexity, is effeminate. Why? Because, as a man, the greatest paradox in my world, is a woman. And hence, what better way to define, this strangely paradoxical, ever evolving, mother of the labyrinth of my illumination. Her face has changed throughout time, but her essence, has not.

I have gone a full circle, as it is my way. I set out to write aimlessly, and instead, wrote specifically. My heart, and this page, will always know the name of this Singularity. Scribbled into the sinew of my soul in the matter of moments that I first embraced her presence. I am grateful for this muse who defines me, because I have spent my lifetime, writing, and searching, to put a name and a face to her. And now, that I accept her timelessness, I struggle, waiting for this universe to once again contract and rush back into her, that she, My Afflatus, who has driven me through so much of my life, learns through my search, Her self.

This duality within me, is the principle of my beliefs. I believe that we, who are born and die alone, we spend our entire lives, building relationships and importance in trivialities, to try to cheat this foreboding inevitability of loneliness. It is a need to exist, and have continuity beyond the frailty of our lives that is the cause for this inspiration.

I believe, that our consciousness is born in two halves that are mismatched for this very reason. A conflict that is necessary so that we question ourselves, and our surroundings. For if we were born whole, love would have been unnecessary, and all the works of inspiration that defines mankind, born from stone, ink or music, from the Taj Mahal, to the Mona Lisa, from Shakespeare's 116th sonnet to Beethoven's 9th symphony, would never have been possible.

It is when we conclude this search, to love inspiration, and inspire in someone the same fervency, that we live our lives meaningfully. It is said that we must love ourselves before we love others, that is to me utter narcissistic hogwash. We can never understand the reason of our own existence. It is impossible. Our mind cannot wrap itself around itself, but it can wholly embrace, and be consumed by another. It is there that it is complete, in that embrace, shared between two consciousnesses, that understanding is realized.

The answer to my existence is not in some higher power. It is within me, it is in her. It is in the knowledge that I am here to love, and inspire and be inspired. It is in these words, it is in the copulation of the emptiness of my singularity with the substance of her universe, in her illumination, I will realize my life.

A Reflection of Love

Love is a curious thing. It is something that mesmerises me. It is something that I think about, I yearn for, something that I do not feel is abundant enough in the world. It is to me, the most beautiful thing in the world, for it can make you forget yourself, in such happiness that all things seem trivial, and it can plunge you in such sadness, that all things seem far too great to bear.

I for one do not believe that the capacity to love, is uniquely human. It exists in all things, if you only choose to look for it. It is as much in the rain that waters the flowers, as it is in the mother that weans her child, as much in the breeze that rustles leaves, as it is in the gentle kisses in lovers' smiles. It is every where around us.

In all its grand splender, Love is the quintessential oxymoron, turning fools into poets, and making paupers feel like wealthy men, just as it makes wise men act foolish, and wealthy men revel in the poverty of her absence. It brings out the best in some men, carrying them to heights they could never have even imagined on their own, and elicits the worst in other men, driving them to heinous crimes their minds cannot comprehend.

Love, a romantic's best friend, the ink of a poet's pen, she evades all that seek her, They that love love, often find themselves alienated from her. An endless search, of the most obvious glaring truth. That is what love is.

++=++++=++++=+++++

I didn't have the energy to think of rhyme, but love will always intrigue me, and i will never tire of writing of it. In all my sadness, i draw strength that i still have the will to love and the capacity to exercise. And that, No one, can ever take from me.