Baci n. 07

So, I'm sure anyone who knows me, knows that I'm hopelessly in love with the idea of being hopelessly in love. When I write, especially when I write of love, I work under one of two presumptions. First; am I writing how I feel, personally? or Second; am I writing for someone else? Depending on which of these takes hold, what I write may take a different point of view, and it need not always express my point of view specifically...

Which leads us to this piece. "Baci n. 07" was written for, as I mentioned elsewhere, all the beautiful Christian ladies in my life. It might surprise some of my friends to know that I, in fact, have many. It might surprise both groups in question with just how highly I regard them. That being said, "Baci n. 07" was written because it was a sentiment I thought they would find beautiful. It literally was written for them. I find it beautiful, too, but understanding my perspective is an article for a far different discussion, and most of the beautiful Christian ladies in question have been party (self-inflicted torture on their part, I assure you) to that discussion. I hope Christians in general will like, and even the general populace, but I'd be happy if it is only the aforementioned ladies who enjoy it.

Conversly, I'll be very sad if no one does.

Anyway... I've known for a long time what the premise to this one would be, but I never could figure out how to bring it to life. I'm glad I was finally able to.

Baci n. 07
"Til I loved, I did not live enough."
E. Dickinson

I always thought I was living my life,
That I, by carpe diem, was defined,
That I sucked all the marrow from life's bones.
Believed I was living the envious dream,
Free from all constraint and every care;
Unquestioned hero of a life well lived.

I saw around the world how others lived
As I followed the path of a rover's life,
Loving with a ne'er-do-well's thoughtless care.
I believed I was by freedom defined
And never imagined another dream
Would leave my own empty but for the bones.

See; she changed me, to the core of my bones;
Changed how I saw the life that I had lived;
Replaced it with a more infinite dream.
She lived a very diff'rent kind of life,
Driven by a diff'rent and greater care,
Step for step the same, but by God defined.

I'd never questioned how I was defined
Until I saw my life as skin and bones;
A soulless traveler of selfish care.
I told you that I thought that I had lived
Not realizing it was an empty life
Because I did not believe in God's dream.

This woman awakened me from my dream
And shared with me how her life was defined;
How Jesus Christ had given her, her life.
How I loved her, this stupid sack of bones,
How love made me question how I lived
And how much I had never thought to care.

She changed all of that, and now I do care.
Through love I found my faith; through love a dream,
And see that I have never my life lived.
The road by her love and God's will defined
Has given spirit'al flesh to these bones
And given me a higher call to life.

I lived a sad life with never a care
Beyond these old bones. Now she's changed my dream
And God's re-defined how my life is lived

Love is Broken Promises

It's funny how so many of my favorite pieces stem from the same bad memory; the worst because it lives with some of the best. I cannot even call it a regret; I still miss the visage and person who wrought such damage, and I sometimes wonder if I can forgive myself for the stupidity; for my choice to ignore what I knew better, for the sake of a love that I, even now, feel in my heart. There is something inescapable about it; healed as it may be, it has still left its mark. I turn around again and wonder if there is even anything to forgive.

I learned much about myself, much about love, and part of me pines for my heart before the breaking. I know I will never be so innocent, and I fear that I'll never have the courage again to open up so far. It's a grand contradiction, I think. I want, but I am afraid. And I cannot help but wonder if the unattainable interests that have risen since then, who, unlike the one who wounded are still friends, have been adored for their unattainability. It isn't really a risk if there is no hope of catching it. The scar cannot rip open again if there is nothing to snag it upon; no claw to tear it.

And yet, how much; how greatly do I wish to risk it again; to feel that way again. Why am I so afraid of it, and why do I want it so much? In the end, I think, it is a testament to hope which landed me in this place to begin with. It is hope fueled by the memory; for the love and passion was real, at least for me. And though I want to feel that way again, I wonder if I have been favouring my heart as one favours a broken leg. Have I become dependent upon a crutch because I think it is too painful to trust my heart with the weight of love? Perhaps I have not met the person who can give me the strength to challenge the fear. Perhaps I have not become aware of her, but I know that I have not challenged it. Has the crutch become an excuse? Have I abandoned opportunity for fear? Have the broken promises of love's fantasy left a kryptonite shard in my heart?


Love is Broken Promises

When first I came upon the mystery
I was amazed at what had given rise
To awaken my then innocent heart.
It was a sugar coated fantasy,
Crafted by stories and other such dreams
That let me, in love's false pathos, believe.

How could I not in such beauty believe?
How could I not chase love’s great mystery,
Filled as I was with such visions and dreams?
And was it lust or love given leave to rise
With my mind safe in banal fantasy
And ignorant to the depths of her heart.

So I gave and gave with all of my 'heart'
Guided by the fables I did then believe
Of the chivalry found in fantasy.
Did sacrifice there unto mystery,
The so-called passion that within did rise
This eager innocent chasing his dreams.

The wry myth of love took away my dreams
And robbed the treasure I kept in my heart
When passion's fabled dragon failed to rise.
Another's cunning led me to believe
In love’s grand and noble mystery;
A thief who well abused my fantasy.

So I learned of love and of fantasy,
Though my disbelief did maintain those dreams:
Her empty promises; my mystery.
Why did I follow with all of my heart
Those empty promises that I believed,
That led but to woe as love failed to rise.

Never more is love given leave to rise
For I know now true love's a fantasy
Born of the lies in which I did believe.
Love only lives within my veiléd dreams
For the scars left on my broken heart
Are too weak to survive false mystery.

Curse the mystery that fights still to rise;
Why does a heart bleeding false fantasy
Whisper of dreams I fear more to believe?

Stranger Echoes

So I was struck again by the thought that, though there are so many people in the world, no matter where we go, we find people who remind us of someone else. I know this is not a new thought but it is a thought that strikes my heart and mind alike. I think the thing I find most fascinating about it is how little it matters to us to meet the person who resembles our distant friend. We sit and marvel and dwell in our memories. We look at this stranger who has pulled so strongly on our thoughts, and we wish the conjoured illusion was real; that the mirage was a true oasis. This nameless stranger sits, content in there own little world, unaware of what they have wrought in ours.

It is an ache; and as we think about this other person, we say; "I should really call so-and-so." And then, of course, 90% of the time we do not. We are too busy. We are too distracted by our moment in time, that we allow it to slide away. But even though the thought has vanished, the ache awoken in our heart by this stranger for our forgotten friend remains. There is no patch for it, no cure. It is something that can only be fulfilled by the person in question.

The piece that follows was written in an airport, as I was struck by the thought, though this post is inspired by another person and another memory in another place. The essence of it remains, and I ask of you, my friends, the next time this thought strikes you; do not allow it to slip away. Call upon this forgotten friend in the name of a vague, yet familiar stranger.


Life is echoes
Faces like memories
Alike
Yet bold distortions
Visions that tease a tempered mind
Made feverish by hope.
Voices pass on a wind,
Tones and words
Ghosts of friends left behind
That ask us to recall them.
We're presented a sea
Of vague yet familiar faces
That push and prod
Our memories of the past
And make us wonder
What if...
Was that...
Until the echo fades
And we see,
And doubt takes hold.
Then, the echoes fade,
The strangers pass on
Forgotten,
Gone with the face of a
Friend
Whom we have never met.
We do not even say goodbye
As memory's replaced
By the harsh reality;
We are alone.
The moments tick by,
Seconds pass
Our gaze wanders
Til
Eyes meet
And through their eyes
We see
We are
A vague yet familiar stranger

Baci n.03

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a hopeless romantic, and although everyone knows it, I don't think anyone really knows how deep a vein it is. In truth, though, I don't really know how anyone sees me, but if they had to listen to everything that my mind conjures, I am sure they would be sick of me too. This hopeless romanticism finds its greatest escape in the tracings left by my pen, and the digital marks left upon my keyboard here for all to see. I am rather obsessed with love. That being said, let it also stand that it is not only romantic love that catches my interest.

There are so many layers, levels and planes and I try to explore them all. I have stated before that writing is a lonely business, so I suppose that is one reason love has its fascination for me. I spend so much time in my one worlds, and so often as a casual observer in the real one, that I have become rather detached. This is the Ouroboros; my fascination begets itself. Desire finds an expression that breeds its own loneliness.

Yet even though there I am so often cut off, and by my own doing, every once in a while, a person comes along who pulls me out my introspective revelry and into a world of pure joy. Every once in a while, true love enters my life. I'll admit that more often these days, it has been love of an unattainable kind, but I have never let that block the friendship(another kind of love) that grew, even if romance never did. But because I felt the love; because it moved within my soul, my life was changed, and I am forever grateful for it. Below is another Baci sestina, and yes, I know it's corney; but for all that, it is also true.


Baci n. 03
"To love a person is to learn the song that is in their heart.”
Anonimo

I always thought my song a quiet one
That all the melodies and minor keys
Were desire's fair echoes upon my soul.
I found much beauty in those subtle hues,
And so, too, I thought them the sound of love--
For, whate'er else could be so beautiful?

Twas then I found something more beautiful
And honestly believed she was the one
As my whole world moved to the sounds of love.
Were locks I never knew til found the keys
That opened up my eyes to warmer hues
I never thought could hold within my soul.

And your song was so warm; so full of soul,
Was no wonder I found you beautiful,
Bathed as you were in a good life's hues.
Can true love ever belong to just one?
Are there really only so many locks and keys
Or has life given us its all to love?

You carry in your heart a song of love
That changed fore'er the one within my soul;
You enlightened through those vibrant keys.
I know now my song was not beautiful;
Too somber to be loved by any one
Until gained from you such passionate hues.

And though I see now, life, through warmer hues,
Tis only 'cause the mark left by your love
That pulled this noble life from a poor one.
Though you were not as partner to my soul,
The time that we shared was so beautiful;
We've diff'rent locks now, seek different keys.

You're off to strike diff'rent chords now, in new keys
To share with all the world, your love's hues
By making other's music beautiful.
She's gone now, and took a piece of my love,
Though she left me with a piece of her soul
A whole man stands now where once was no one.

Not the only one; not the only keys,
Just my fav'rite soul. She altered my hues,
And music's love; now I'm beautiful.