Integrity of desire will have its moment,
Even if I'm only being true to myself.
You purveyors of other people's writings,
Listen to a song written aeons ago,
Written and sometimes received, understood.
You passionate hearts, sick of self,
Sick of apathy,
Sick of nothing new under the sun,
There's great news,
"We are not the point!"
Incredible isn't it?
Alone, facing the screen,
Aware of self as all there is,
The `other`, just a concept,
A mood deviation,
A weakness after loss of `self` confidence.
Intensity of feelings,
The burning heart that longs to tear down illusion,
That wants to be the first, the best, the centre, the focus,
Always seen as right, never wrong,
Gloriously accepted as okay,
Better than just normal,
Loved, respected, understood,
Feted, safe, secure,
Desired, longed for,
Celebrity, the right way,
Fame, famously respected,
A writer, an artist,
Be shattered in this silence,
Where is the beauty outside you?
In our guises of the right pose,
The right fit,
The image projected,
We forget how to live.
The next time you need to hate in anger,
The next time you burn quickly in lust,
Where `feelings` are the driving motive,
Steered by hurts from the past,
The `other` waits to silently hold you,
Warm loving you to stand up.
Soul, spirit truth,
Touch, tender, love,
Listen to the pain that moulds you,
Step out of the skin of rejection,
We've been beautifully wrong,
And forgiveness is the balm of Gilead.
The next time,
In your own silent darkness,
When there is no one to listen to your second hand ideals,
Look deep into that darkness and stretch out your hand.
When the `nothing`,
Which is your experience of `other`,
Does not brush against your skin,
Call out for recognition,
Of your deepest, deepest need.
A scared child to the father,
A wounded soul to the healer.
Lost, in need of a saviour.