Poem: That Which has no Words

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

To suggest what cannot be spoken:
A whisper given in the twilight,

There I cannot see your eyes,
Only hear your breath, feel your touch
To touch more than touch could ever hold
Only life demands such daring,

Within the temple of the soul, are rooms with no light shining
Some of us hold more there than anyone could ever measure
There, hidden places that must be guarded,
Too strange to ever see the daylight

No way to learn of this except,
Through the endless life unfolding
Even as others fail to understand it
This difference is apparent to all and everyone

By necessity we go underground.
Driven from the day we hide in the nighttime
Such a meeting, destiny, for in our darkness we discover
How to awaken what was always sleeping within.

Strange fantasies, sweeter and lighter than the sun
Illuminate a private paradise with unbroken solitude
The wall, stony faces of incomprehension all around
Guarding every avenue of escape

All of us unlock there an ancient magic
To vanish, disappear, and become invisible.
To mark so clearly the division in the soul,
Between the seen and the unseen.

We hide and live a cautious life.
Yet even in our hidden state we wonder,
Are there others of my kind?
Who share with me this strange affection?

Now I pause to reconsider
Have I grasped the truth about you?
From fragments, tried to weave together
Your tapestry in all its fullness.

Has your soul been whispering to me
The secret truth of your own journey
Dare I share my dark heart with you
Asking you; reveal your hidden nature.

Let me see your eyes, my beauteous darkling
To witness all the wonders inside you
Unlock every hidden passage
Let me open up your soul.

(If by some chance I have misjudged you
Then I ask for your forgiveness.
Please forget all that you have seen here.
This is meant for special eyes.)

2

Yet another ploy to get Dunamis to sleep with you. See, Dunamis IS a darkling, indeed. And his unseen dark rooms possess wisdoms untold and totem poles of puzzled faces bedeck the halcyon fields of his discontent. Conventional wisdom assumes the most compelling feature of Dunamis is his unusually large, succulent breasts, and the poem, to this reader, seems most pointed about the notion being a vastly obtuse simplification. No doubt DUnamis does have spectacular breasts, and a very nice, er…area…but your poem looks beyong that, furthering the notion that donuts are over-rated and bagels are too dense and starchy to start anyone’s day on the right note. Love is a complicated thing. This work, and your last one seem to be groping in new places where pain hides. All good poetry scrapes in the dark and stretches dead muscles. There’s a deep melancholy and nostalgia for primal longings that have long been hidden from view. Thanks for dusting off the weirdness and making me feel like the doe-eyed profoundly gifted child again, instead of the underachieving asshole who’s taken his place.

3

Wow…

4

Thank you kindly somenewname,

I only wish the girl for whom the poem was written felt an inkling of the same. She has no time for romance in her life now, she reports. Although I watch to see if she has no time for romance, or just no time for romance with me.

I am either a worse poet than I thought, or else I have been attracted to all the wrong women for the past few years. (Maybe a little of column A, and a little of column B)

Gamer,

Oh gawd… well I guess that if Dunamis was some big breasted woman there might be some attraction there. (Only lately I have had a taste for skinny women with more inconspicuous endowments.)

People with a touch of greatness never have an easy relationship with achievement. They usually either press too hard and never taste the joy of what they have done, or else they grow to resent the endless demands of an insatiable world and may resent their own gifts too. Only fools demand greatness from someone who is thoroughly mediocre, but every asks for greatness from someone who was brilliant, hardworking and/or lucky enough to have delivered before.

5

There is a touch of the familiar here. Heartbreak is just around the corner…

JT

6

Heartbreak is always around the corner in my neighborhood. :wink:

7

Just keep the whisk broom and dustpan handy… :frowning:

JT

8

You make me wanna be that girl.

A

9

YES, XANDER, I WILL MARRY YOU!

youre an amazing writer, btw (as if you didnt already know that)

10

…and don’t forget to recycle. :wink:

11

If only you were…

12

:smiley: You’re cute. And impressive.

13

Xander,

You are a lovely man… and she is a fool.

14

May I say upfront that I am in love with “beautioug darkling”. There’s definently some soul stirrage in that. It takes wonderful feelings to work words in such a wonderful way. I used to know those kinds of words before my heart turned black.

But anyway, enough of my melodrama. It seems as though she is a girl who has yet to really know, and doesn’t yet love herself. Without herself in check she doesn’t feel as though she can let anyone else in. Its a shame. Love unrequited is truly one of the shittiest feelings I’ve ever felt. But you never know. Hopefully she’ll figure herself out and then she’ll be ready for you.

15

I don’t think so (about Bessy’s “she is a fool”). From the way he describes her… the feeling I get… I’m thinking… she’s just scared. Flattered… prob’ly feels a little /more/ than an inkling of the same… but is scared.

– xanderman

If ever poetry could deliver the love-potion results you are expecting from it – yours would be the one…

…unless you scared her away.

But, I doubt she’ll forget it.

16

somenewname

Maybe so, but I just meant she is a foolish girl to let him go… she may or may not be scared, but may regret it when he leaves or finds someone else to adore. It is usually after having lost another when one sees things clearly.

17

I must ask, how did your heart turn black?

Do you see her as trying to protect herself from an experience of vulnerability?

18

I don’t get the impression that my poem scared her. I get an impression of indifference. Do you think it was overbearing? Or did you have another thought in mind?

19

The poem is about you Xander. You summon her but you keep the door to your heart sealed.

Is her ‘indifference’ not simply your own reflection?

A

20

My dear liquidangel,

With merciless grace, you damn me straight to hell.