The Philosopher's Stone

You and I
have failed
to understand each other
in a way
that makes a brush
with death
a passing image
in the mind
of busy souls.

I have needed you
to see and understand
what it is
that encumbers me
and yet have wanted you
to speak
as openly
as you have
ever dreamed
or dared
in wildest hopes
and fantasy.

There cannot be
an opposition
played out
in contradiction
but rather there are
those paradoxes
that we learn to live
within our negative capabilities.

I will write to you
my entire life
and every word
will be able
to be interpreted
from a point of view
that only you
can have a sense
of knowing
since you know me
in a way
that no other
may ever have a clue.

Every word,
each breath
and every syllabically
nuanced passage
an homage to the citadel
of our intimacy
and yet the rubble
of its destruction
the likes of which
only the architects
of traumatic reconstruction
in the distant school
of alchemical archeology
can have the faintest clue
as to what has passed
this way
between the two
of us.

No one will ever know,
and perhaps
not even you.

runningturtle87