Disappearing Into This

He stays up late, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey or coffee.

Some nights he’s Bukowski; some nights he’s Neruda.

And yet the truth remains:

Every night, he’s someone that’s not existed before.

And someone that’s existed before being born.

Some nights the words pound through him

and smash into their destinations

Some nights the words flow through him

and pour into the souls who so desperately need them

Some nights the words leave him

and that’s when he is most alone.

He watches the sky,

relishes each form she presents-

whether it be grey clouds full of storm

or clear blue expanses that stretch for miles.

He is in love….

and no matter if she is filled with darkness or sunlight,

he wants to hold her in his arms

and fall asleep in her embrace.

Pieces of him were taken and given to her

and now he chases them.

He chases them even though he’s not sure if he wants any of those pieces back,

even though he knows he can never have them-

even though he never knew those stolen pieces were there-

until they were not.
_________________________________________________________________

It’s Open Link Night, Week 127 over at d-Verse~ Poet’s Pub.  This is my submission.  Go check them out, lots of great poets!

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31 thoughts on “Disappearing Into This

  1. margaret says:

    writers wait, grab, chase, embrace a friend, sit alone… yes, this is a passionate write, one I think you understand 🙂

  2. i’m not sure this is necessarily relevant to your passion inspired words..that i did enjoy…

    but..recent research shows that ancestral memory is A real phenomenon..

    So actually..we can trigger genetic memories..and be so many different ones as a total OF ONE!

    OH! by the way….

    Happy NEW Year2Ya2!014!

  3. Makes me wonder about the pieces of myself and which ones were taken and which were given and which remain intact.

  4. billgncs says:

    perhaps we are the words we own. This was very nice.

  5. Mary says:

    Excellent – you have characterized the world of a poet so very aptly. And when the words leave, a poet definitely is very much alone. I don’t know if I have ever read a poem like this before..that describes just how the poet feels. A very compelling read.

  6. claudia says:

    ah that captures it so perfectly… oh the chasing and being in love with words…

  7. Awww! Very lovely and sad piece. I feel it for sure. 🙂

  8. This is stunning–and so very apt really–how we all find the words or don’t –I am so touched by this piece

  9. jaybluepoems says:

    Beautiful rendering of the poet’s soul, the poet’s love. Very nice.

  10. Grace says:

    I love it when poets write about words, how well we are challenge by the process of writing, how we get lost and finally how we are changed by finding ourselves again ~ Good one ~

  11. coalkissed says:

    This is beautiful! I think as poets we often leave parts of our hearts in the words that we pen. I sometimes chase my words wanting to take them back, but I never seem able to capture them in quite the same way again. Lovely…

  12. This is really powerful. Beautifully poetic storytelling…feels like there is more to come.

  13. To be a poet is to be most alone when words fail. To share a piece of oneself makes it necessary to have those words.. There is a progression in your piece that tells a sinister story I think

  14. hisfirefly says:

    yes, the poet
    yes, this life, this lonliness

  15. Wow! Interesting and intense!

  16. brian miller says:

    he is any poet…who has known and tired to capture…to forge words into something he missed in life…even if only by that much…smiles…you give us a really nicely constructed picture of him…

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