Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Difference of Falling

Such a way; with obedience,
I swear, was I led to this?
Take a piece of me if you may,
but the crumbs are diminishing today,
and personally, I doubt they will survive
longer than a fortnight. I've
had an image build up within my skull:
though I walk in the midst of a soundless lull,
though my path appears simply straightforward,
a haze is near, driving shoreward,
and I see a figure covered with gulls
with bloodstains for eyes, a perch for a skull,
half-devoured fingers mixed with the sand
as if caught baking brownies with the severed hand,
patches of flesh missing—carried away
so chicks could grow strong from this buffet—
my face not of terror, but of utter acceptance
of my perilous fate. I died from the difference
of a piece here and there, like plucking a hair
one by one until I am abruptly aware
that my body is gone—my soul has slipped through
the exposed cavities—goodbye, adieu
and then consciousness, too, dissolves from me.
Though this is an image from the above amputee—
I am no more decayed than the nearby shore,
with seeds from the Devil passed through my core,
but today I resist, today I will stand
solemnly on truth not sunken in sand,
that I am loved by another that is completely committed
to seeing me whole, not partially fitted
with him by my pieces, but instead, equally
balanced and symmetric, made peaceably
and complimentary—we’re wound together.
And I’m sorry that I expected a malicious endeavor—
I never knew I could be half of a whole such as this,
I assumed before long you would call a quick quits,
but my love keeps me striving—I’m alive and I’m well
despite the Devil emerging from Hell
to ensnare me in doubt and feast on my hope;
entangled, enticed down a slippery slope,
but I found a way out—a way back to your side.
I’ll never be lonely, nor travel beside
anyone other than you, I swear
that you and I shall become a mixed pair
just as the design had always intended to be;
you and I walking along the coast of the sea,
with gulls fishing and diving, sand in our shoes,
older now still, but still able to choose
the other each day—offer you pieces
though you have the whole. It never decreases,
and I have you—whole, in every fashion
that love can exist in. And even my passion
has grown over time. Yes, you are mine—
mine, and I’m yours—and we, intertwine.