The Inkwell

Ink — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 10:20:31 +0000

And so he cuts anchor, and sails off into a latent sea.

Ink — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 14:34:12 +0000

And so again we come to that silent place where all the things we’ve left unsaid come to die slow, quiet, timely, deaths.

Now

Ink — Sat, 11 Sep 2010 12:00:16 +0000

Now, more than ever,
more than before;
you fill my days
with sighs, and tears,
smiles that fade with
last light. Leaving
a quiet desperation, a
still burning fire, and the
desire for nothing
less than you.

Fig Leaves

Ink — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 01:19:47 +0000

So oft, our best face is just a cover for our worst fears. We put on fig leaves to hide our shame. Our scant remedy, dress the body; but the problem – the bleeding wound – is the heart.

Last Stroke of Midnight

Ink — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 17:37:42 +0000

I have come to realize that a great part of my youth has been spent, trying to pass these quiet midnight hours.

For so long, I have endeavored to create this beautiful, other, world – one of fancy, of melancholy, of love and regret – with the pen in my hand and the ink that flows from it. With it, I sought escape – a safe place – from the tiresome and mundane, from the relentless assault of reality, and the people and things in it.

Perhaps, I thought, somehow with this I could save myself.

So with pen in hand, and cigarette in another; with a heart full of sadness and a head full of words, I set out to create this distant, quiet place, and poured all that I had into it. But in the end, there is nothing here, really. Just empty words, a turn of phrase, a gesture, a smile, a tear, a gentle wisp of smoke in the still night air, and then, nothing. Such fleeting things. Such hollow things.

And all this time, she has stood by my side – a specter – whispering to me, this muse of mine.

Oh, how beautiful you were for a time! How I thought you would save me from myself! How I thought you would complete me, sustain me.

But I was wrong. The undeniable truth is this: you are nothing more than a deified reflection of the deep, hidden things of my soul that could find no other expression. You cannot fill the void I created you to fill. You are me, standing in the mirror through a veil of words.

This is not Prospero dismissing Ariel, this is me bidding you adieu, farewell.

Goodbye, Midnight.

It was truly beautiful for a while. But it is no longer the beauty that I seek.

I do not need you anymore.

A Bottle and a Tree

Ink — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 00:00:27 +0000

Beneath the tree, its
silent shade,
she unfolds before me.
And like the late afternoon
breeze, she stirs
me / I am lulled
to sleep
as her voice carries
warmth and whisper, light,
like memories – so many
falling, floating
leaves, painting smiles
against an autumn sky.

I forget to breathe,
as, quiet, she dreams.

Ink — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 11:45:11 +0000

I woke up with the feeling that I had failed with most things, or at least my dreams told me so. Then as the day when on, I realized that if only I had failed to wake, there would be no issue at all.

Ink — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 16:51:39 +0000

…and I resolved to keep my dreams alive, even if only one dying ember at a time.

thoughts on the moment

Ink — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 09:32:26 +0000

It has been such a long dry spell. I am distracted by consumption that does not exist. What is left in a tired frame runs rampant elsewhere.

Ink — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 16:28:31 +0000

“A poet’s foremost disposition is that of a realist, not a romantic.”