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Rocks In the Clouds
ROCKS IN THE CLOUDS:
Farewell sweet moment of my youth!
Fare thee well sweet springtime of discovery!
Autumn, leaf-weeping autumn, has come a-calling again
and in her rust-red arms she carries winter's sad, sad babe.
This moment of malleable thought,
a mist spreading her pliant arms across all bright landscapes,
a mist covering everything under an ache so cold it burns!
This supple moment so dangerous yet hypnotic
with the lethargy it casts as the brewing clouds begin to roll.
Do you recall that initial slight breeze,
unheralded, unlooked for?
It shook, ever so slightly, the frail leaves, their veins
seeped in the change from lithe to crisp -
Who had even noticed that what was once green
now seemed somehow less?
Do you recall that edge of silken light,
so soft, yet with the mastery to caress until hot words
bled uncompromisingly from my oh so eager to please lips?
Do you recall that park, fragile with fresh sunlight?
It was a golden time; words,
laden with the awakening after hibernation,
carring the secrets usually hidden in our hearts.
I ache with the coiled memory of the way I stirred,
leant into you, searched for a hint of flesh,
a predilection of desire...( that taste of my own success? )
I cannot forget that search nor the discovery, so bright
it throbs still, a beacon of distress, that you
had stirred also, leant forward and my flesh sought.
This moment of malleable thought
captures all previous experience,
a net so vast it is often overlooked.
This moment dawdles through my mind
like a preoccupied schoolchild; a leisurely,
corpulent caterpillar intent as much on the trail
as on the butterfly paradise ahead.
Within these pervasive thoughts
a question loiters ( hands in pockets, stiff spine
hard up against the straight faced lamppost
that lights all sought for corners ) ...
Where are you? Where have your beautiful feet
(and the memory stirs painfully - hot nights
lying in bed tasting sweat, my tongue
tickling the crevasses between your toes ) carried you?
If within the softness resides steel
then these two hands ( that once caressed so gently )
feel the urge to strangle - at least they would
but for this listlessness I feel.
In the ascension we never see the fall.
So busy are we on the exploration that, like Icarus,
we soar too high and forget the frailty of our wings.
Now each passing day ambushes me; the tragedy
lies not in succumbing to the black lure of self-pity
but in the scathing memory, that taunts so loudly,
of my lack in foreseeing disaster's swift approach.
There is always the final wave
hiding in the initial spring greeting,
the acidic dismissal in the initiatory kiss,
like rocks in the clouds and terror in laughter,
like future differences in the best laid plans
and death's loathsome embrace in a child's brave staggering step,
what lays ahead so bright and fresh soon slips
into the harsh gurgling of dishwater regret.
So farewell sweet spring love!
Fare thee well lost moment of glory!
Autumn, leaf-weeping, heart-numbing autumn
has caught me out again and in her rust-red arms
winter's sad, mad babe lays a-squalling.
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