Poem of the Month - August 2018

    
•One•  ( Satan )    
     
I write this to you, a cathartic exercise    
In life, and what I hope to learn in its attempt.    
I write this, though I don’t know why, perhaps you do.    
     
I’ve never believed you were the beast people say,    
That the church preaches, and the Bible teaches us.    
 But the way to explain what goes on in the Mind,      
Where everything resides when we’re born, as we live    
And then, always too soon, though some are blessed      
- we die.    
     
     
•Two•  ( Dad )    
     
I write this to you, a cathartic exercise    
In life, and what I hope to learn in its attempt.    
I write this, though I don’t know why, perhaps you do.    
     
You know I recently lost you, and got Him back.    
I was with you till the last, looked up, there He was.    
And when I talk to you, it’s Him I feel hears me.    
I’ve nothing to repay Him with, except my faith    
Restored when I felt you returned into His keep.    
     
     
•Three•  ( Son )    
     
I write this to you, a cathartic exercise    
In life, and what I hope to learn in its attempt.    
I write this, though I don’t know why, perhaps you do.    
     
Hello, Joey, it’s been a while since I’ve felt you;    
The phantom presence in my womb long-faded, gone.    
It broke me when I sent the boxes to Goodwill.    
Yet what I have of yours still remains in my heart,    
I’ll take with me when Mommy’s loneliness says    
It’s time.    
   
 

Eta Carinae,  

It was not my intended trajectory  
To be  
A meteoric blaze  
Through your skies  
And I hope my  
Heart  
Of reds  
Compliments the blues  
In your  
Eyes  
 
To burn  
It is my nature  
To burn  
Ceaselessly  
Variable  
Only  
In  
Intensity  
And as the seed  
Never resembles  
The flower  
Intention is only a beginning  
 
Longing, as we do  
Reaching for each other  
Across this divide  
I think of the road that lead us  
To here  
 
Persistent  
Whispers of the  
Past that manacle our  
Ankles to  
Ghosts of loves  
Lost  
And the cruelties of this  
 
Talking, as we do  
When sometimes my love  
Is a folded  
Fist I plunge into your  
Mouth  
And other times  
An open  
Hand  
That beckons  
Fingertips pressed  
Into your wrist  
To draw you in  
To my encircling  
Embrace
 
I am equal parts  
Covetous desire and  
Caring patience  
 
I am yang and yin  
Molded about the curve  
Of your body  
My breath rippling  
The sheets that  
Hold you on a  
Sleepless  
Evening  
My tongue  
Echoing  
Caressing  
Your thoughts  
 
I think of the many paths  
Ahead  
For us  
Each in our individual  
Spheres of  
Obligations  
And crowded around by those  
With their own  
Needs and  
Agendas  
Like my elderly mother  
Whose care has fallen to me  
And the young man who  
Pours out his ardor and  
Probably thinks you are writing to  
Him  
And whomever else  
Is orbiting  
Us  
As our paths  
Begin to curve  
About each other's  
Curious  
Gravity  
And the stark realities of this  
 
Who can define what there is  
Between lovers  
What Promethean  
Spark that  
Ignites a fountainhead of  
Desires  
To utterly consume  
Each other  
Who can say what artist  
Molded us  
Thusly  
 
If I were any more flawed  
I would be rightly defined  
As a man  
But if all that I am  
Is enough  
Than all that I am  
Is what I offer  
 
I feel  
How you've suffered  
As I've walked  
In the halls of your  
Voice  
As I've listened  
To the reserve  
Of your silences  
And I have listened  
And I do hear you  
 
I do not know what  
The future shall hold  
For us  
As we live  
Through each long  
Evening  
And grow  
Into each dawning  
Day  
But, I hope  
 
And hope, then  
Shall be our guiding star  
 
I remain yours,  
R Sculptoris