Matters

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  Article
• 3 Reviews
• 2 Comments

Broken, the wounds invisible
in this dimmest of light.
Gone, gone,
spirit is leaking from this vessel.
A small creek of spirit now extends,
the marshy edges supporting life
in memories, in aspirations.
Gone, gone,
the stream flows to the sea
that is my past.
My soul sits in a puddle behind me,
always behind me.

As the liquid leaves me,
the gases expand,
taking spirit’s place.
Growing, growing,
fumes around me and inside me,
intoxicated breathing;
smoke swirling in my diaphragm.
Growing, growing,
The thick air, Broken, the wounds indiscernible
in this dimmest of light.
Gone, gone,
spirit is leaking from this vessel.
A small creek of spirit now extends,
the marshy edges supporting life
in memories, in aspirations.
Gone, gone,
the stream flows to the sea
that is my past.
My soul sits in a great puddle behind me,
always behind me.

As the liquid leaves me,
the gases expand,
taking spirit’s place.
Growing, growing,
fumes around me and inside me,
intoxicated breathing;
smoke swirling in my diaphragm.
Growing, growing,
The thick air,
lonely, frustrated, perverse;
I can’t find the oxygen I need.

I am too heavy with solids,
that cannot leave me,
that will not leave me.
Standing, standing,
the weight of this mass keeps me
Stagnant, chronic.
They are needs, draining needs;
to eat, to sleep,
shelter and sexual release.
Standing, standing,
needs with little gratification.
Satisfaction comes only
from quenching the thirst;
I am a slave.
Liberty, freedom…
I am contained.

But the gases, the gases,
I adore them, truly; they are me.
The liquid leaks, and runs,
and solids hold me down.
Rising, rising
The gases float me.
They share with me their weightlessness.
They pull me from the material ground.
Rising, rising!
These vapors that surround me
are loyal to me.
Filling my chest, making me more.

If only, if only
the solids inside me could sublimate.
From hunger, arise only taste!
To sleep, ONLY to dream!
The sky to be my ceiling,
open air to be my walls!
Sexual desire made into pure eroticism!
If only, if only
I could smile to the sea,
and drop rose petals to the earth.
I could take a hand, (maybe yours?)
and float, possess a divinity.

But I sit here,
it is dark, and I ache.
My back is wet,
the ground is hard.
I find pleasure, only in breathing,
only in dreaming.

In these matters, these matters,
I need to reach a new state.

• A good poem, lacking substance (that was a pun)

  by TheDreamanic

  Posted Nov 6, 2008
  +4
  I agree with Bunny, that this is a great poem that lacks a hook. Once you've set up the poem it is nice to keep reading it, and it gives back with more and more ideas.
  
  In particular, I think you've cornered an aspect of the human definition of 'divinity'.
  
  To eat onl... (read more)

• FIREonH2O
  Dec 15, 2008
  This is very alluring... I couldn't stop, was eager for more at the end. It's put together veery nicely, the style fits the writing.
• Simon
  Nov 3, 2008
  I'll be back!!!

• Date Added
• Nov 1, 2008 at 9:02 PM
• Article Type
• Literature
• Genres
• Poetry
• Topics
• People, Pain
• Overall Statistics
• 369 Views
• 6 Votes
• Site Rankings
• #34 for Score
• #48 for Popularity
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