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The prose of Saris
| Open Poetry #39 |
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The prose of Saris |
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themute Member
since 2006-05-08
Posts 469Maryland 
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There have been times in my life when I thought: am I something less or something more; am I the fool or am I the wisest of them all? And when I looked at her I thought the former every time. She would choose every choice to make my heart feel derisory; choosing every man in line before me, though I stand at the front, I stand at the saddest closeness, I stand looking at her, to memorize her inflections, to cherish. There would be a time when I ask her: was he better than me, were they all? Was I as bad as you made this face, this body, feel to be? Not waiting for an answer because I fear too much to utter questions, to know the truth. Not her truth. In my heart, I know that this love of mine is so far gone, so romantic, that it is fantasy, but in this fantastic world that seems too strange to me to understand, I think it fits in nicely, though I whish it wasn’t mine to bare, I judge it as near a curse, as near a tragedy as possible. Though I recognize still, true loves are rare, especially when the sensation’s mutual. She had a scarf on made of saris, colored in the pied flavors of the world, crimsons of the sunsets, yellows of the dawn, purples of the clouds of the dusking winter day, greens of the grass blades, greens of the leaf, natures child cloth I called it, beauty strung. I had but one word for her, Caitlin. And in as many days as I could think upon, when I saw her there was nothing but distraction, a calming disconnection, like the smoke in my lungs, or the poison I drank. But her unique tangibility, untainted, was my first and only vision, my beginning. She had no lies about her; she was so real, so real. In a world that confuses me. Where the hours seem nonsense, where my senses seem nonsense, where the seconds play catch-up with my consciousness. And being conscious of this ridiculousness only makes it harder. Her voice was the cloth, covering the raw table making it seem clean again. Her face was my hopes, collected so serenely, so perfectly, and so lovely. Her touch was the open door to new doors, to new feelings, one day I hoped to open the right one, where both our hearts reside in a room full of simple things for simple spirits. Yes, she was my heartache; she was my lovelorn. Beneath my feet where I stood, there was a penny, and as I looked at it, there was a ground beneath it, and suddenly, I realized, the world is so immense. Then that thought bore another, the immensity of our cosmos. Then that thought bore another thought, the immensity of my dreams, the immensity of my senses, the immensity of my thoughts. Oh the immensity! I was working at a wal-mart, doing what they paid me to, doing what I would for scraps of money, scraps of emotion, scraps of conversation. I hated work as much as I hated games played for a purpose. I hated the game of attraction, I hated the need for persuasion when our hearts where already beside each other, the silliness of it all, the needless words, the needless remarks that get you either closer or farther apart, when the two of you know, that you both are attracted, that you both could fall into loverly times together. “But this is the game my friend” and you have to play or you’ll never get anywhere with women. So I gotta lie, act accordin’ to what the rest yall do and be happy that I get to play this game at all. I hate these games. They let me off, they let me go, but the whole time I wasn’t working, I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to. I was thinking of her, always, I’m thinking of you Caitlin, you never saw that, you never knew how much my heart yearned, it yearned so much for you. And when I got home, I wasn’t writing, I wasn’t thinking poetically, I was thinking of you, always thinking of you Caitlin, you never read that, you never thought about how much my affections for you changed my heart, I yearned so much for you. The time was 6:55, 7:00 on my clock, I needed the extra five for extra rest. My mind was open, it was so open to the new day, to the old memories, open completely; that was when the world seemed strangest, it seems so placid inside me that it doesn’t feel real to me at all, like my life is just a dream of some kind, the dream of the universe. I was dressed for school, every five days, every single five days, I was dressed at the same time, antlike. And as I walked, there was a transformation from the open mind, to the distracted mind, for I could see every day, the beauty, the enormity of the world, and it was wonderful. But with every transformation there is a more extreme one to follow. I would sit in the seat I was assigned to, and sit quietly as was policy the school had prescribed to, stand when the voice in the box told me to, and leave the room when the bell sound rang. Oh what wonderful capsulation the decision makers constructed, what preparation for the real world, the free world, that they have given us, which they can give us. I would linger here forever; I would love to live without thought, I would love to live in fear, to live for examinations, because that’s what the life they have provided, is all about. I whish to be free as the flying bird, as free as the running horse, as free as the gliding fish in the bluest ocean, dying when I will, living without fear, living for nothing but to experience life, to be free to love without games, without judgment. I am the two-toed wanderer [This message has been edited by themute (11-08-2006 08:36 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2006 Matthew Patrick Holbert - All Rights Reserved | |||
Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
Matt, have you any idea, how this reaches into this reader's heart and inner being? I said before and say again, keep the pen busy, letting flow the soulful beautiful spirit unique to you. This piece might be read more in the prose forum, but it's ok to leave it here too, just hope more will take time to read. Loveya, and Happy Birthday! I too, am a Scorpio illusion.  |
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themute Member
since 2006-05-08
Posts 469Maryland |
Thank you twice, you are a jem to me Kacy, us scorpios' have passion, at least thats what I've heard, weather thats true or not, for me it is. I am the two-toed wanderer |
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