Out Of Control
By jhxmt
- 356 reads
Perhaps there is some part of me that feels
I have been cheated in some way, now
Knowing that where once the world was
Black on white and clear, it is
Now black on grey, white on cream,
Cream on grey and, more recently,
Grey on grey.
What once was easy for me to see has been
Clouded and swirled by her invisible finger,
Reaching out to me even here as I sit and scribe.
Why is it that my mind is unable to clamp down
The knife-edge that runs through my thoughts?
Why do I still feel her blade inside me
When I am miles away?
My mind, occupied by the senses that I do not
Possess to my knowledge, pays no heed
To what flows down my arms and through
This petty medium, is not complete
In its understanding of what I write.
And so should it be, for that way, no knife
Can tell her.
But why should it not? For I have not yet
Spoken a quarter, a millionth, I have not
Spoken at all of what I feel for her, the silence
That lays over my vocality is no more than
A conditioned response, for my mind knows
Despite its constant protests to the contrary,
That to speak of such things is to make physical,
And therefore to make destructible,
All that I love and have loved.
Suddenly, quietness, acquiescence, as the
Fatal words are unfurled. The temptation to
Erase all, to prevent this before it spirals down
Into the depths of others' knowledge, is great.
But my self now steps forwards, finally willing
To take mastery, to prevent the will from undoing
All that it has fought so hard for.
And so, as this draws to a close, as the blade withdraws,
As the mind closes, as the self takes the reins, as
The flow increases, as I cannot prevent it,
As all speeds and hurries and flies and wings
And falls and tumbles and heads too rapidly to stop
To a final conclusion
The final conclusion
Appears in a final flash
And a thump, a smash
Of love.
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