March 23, 2008

Conchobhar, Devotee, Paramount

What are your big, sad eyes doing invading my dreams? You’re supposed to be an incorporeal voice singing songs of inspiration in my ear. Physical desire has no place in our relationship.
Yet suddenly one night there you are, with your eyes so dark they almost look black and - most certainly - always lost. You ask me countless questions without saying a word and I never have any response. Fortunately answers are not what you’re after. All you want me to do is undress and shed my skin, be who I am underneath it all. The reason you’re so haunting is because you never hide. You’re true for everyone to see and the masses are starved for unfeigned honesty, it gives them something to hold on to. And you demand commitment equaling yours from any one you allow to come within your focus. So, with my fear-filled heart beating the rhythm of love, I open all the zippers and buttons and peel away the layers. What else is there to do? How could I defy you and the commandment in your glance?
As inch by inch I am revealed, the forlorn expression beneath your brows is slightly reassured and every jagged square of naked skin draws the soft attention of your stare. Finally bare I realize how cold it is out here and suddenly I am not bewildered anymore by the pain, fear and resignation in your eyes. We stand together now in the winds atop the mountain, the trees around us all clear-cut with only stumps remaining, the grass singed black from fiery rain, and we do our best to keep our heads. We find comfort in the presence of a second pair of eyes staring out at the destruction and insanity. What we see is disconnected; contorted figures of a world that hasn’t found its place and is falling hopelessly behind. Black static is whirring above the restless valley filled with fatuous demands. Our only chance to drown it out is listening to the silent volumes that we speak.
Every person that happens our way we look in the eyes and ask them to follow our suit and we take heart in every single one refusing, because it means we’re on to something. 
When the night sky leaves us frightened, we sing your songs and recite my poems and chase our dreams away that infatuate us with visions of an unattainable reality. With the morning light the veil of dejection across our pupils lifts and we are rejuvenated to bear the puzzled stares for another turn around the sun. 
When I’m in danger of floating away on a drift of convenience, I rest myself in those dark circles that give your soul a voice and let them haunt me back to clarity. 
And when it gets too bad, when I see tears swelling in your eyes and your hand shakes so much it can barely hold your cigarette, then I reach out and softly brush your wild, dark hair out of your face to reveal your delicate features.
There’s not much to our bodies, life has worn them out, and our skin is alabaster-pale from being pent-up inside with gloomy thoughts. Still I find you beautiful, my fibers all electrified from being inches from your skin, your body heat crashing into me in waves assimilated to your mood swings. The unaware glitter hurrying across your iris for fractions of breaths tells you feel the same. And when the light hits us just right – some time still ahead – it’ll make us shine and transform us into gleaming beacons of hope, tinged with a shadow of tragedy.
You jolted me awake with all the vigor of your beliefs, your eyes and presence invading my dreams, and now I can’t shake you anymore. In the quiet moments I take delight in having you look at me in my exposed state. Only when the racket picks up around me, I still find I cringe once in a while at the vivid stimuli hitting my senses with painful intensity, now that the cushions and shields are removed. But when I lie down and there you are with your gently pleading eyes, my strength returns and I know
"If I can make myself believe, the rest is easy."