Slow Journeys

(I'm afraid this one is bit of an indulgence. I wrote and posted this on the original TIBU, on the eve of my birthday in 2007 - and since I'm feeling somewhat melancholic and introspective right now, with the old site dying on us tomorrow, I decided to dig this one up again. I can only hope you won't mind too much.)

Slow journeys

l

I call to you.
I call to you:
the child,
the children;
the moments we were so alive
and without thought.

The magic of moments;
the curtains that moved with the night;
the curtains that promised all fear
and protection at times;
the witch and the teeth
and the moments of praying;
the gathering night
and the magic,
so fearsome and true.

ll

The well-used deck of playing cards;
the crease that like an avalanche
ran through the jack of hearts -
and all those signs and
stories,
mangled cards:
The games we played:
I turn a card -
and now you love me,
now I hate you

lll

and the night;
those first dark promises
of joy and death.
Before I knew
the full vocabulary of lust,
I dreamt up demons
and sweet torture.
Waking up with sudden
cooling white and swamp stuff.

lV

Fear, at times,
does not need words.
I knew I was doomed;
I knew I was tainted.
I had a world of hurt
and an amazing lack of trust
to feed me to these nights -
and to the light,
that if it caught me
would proclaim me
to be monstrous.

V

All of the darkness and fear,
all of those moments
that I was afraid

but I was also so often in love.
There was Jacqueline -
and yes: I was nine years’ old;
I had no language for love,
so I dreamt of saving her from lions
and tribes of cannibals
and I also dreamt of
dancing round the fires,
partaking of her naked,
roasted body.
I was the saviour and the demon,
feasting on my virtue and her flesh.

Vl

Then, there was no doubt:
I was the age of monsters,
angels,
invented and included every day -
fear and play a dance of moments:
What’s the colour,
what’s the smell of what is right,
when all that happens
is new and fearsome
and strange and oh so bright -

and how I loved and how I feared
in all those moments

Vll

and loving,
growing older,
tainted with this knowledge:
Lies are lifelines;
lies are safe -
I committed endless sins
against the light,
against the bearings
of my shallow soul.

I lied to fuck.
I lied to be alone.
I lied and was quite happy for a while
to curse and to deny
the shadows and the light -

and I denied the Gods
that wait for us
to listen to the flesh
and to forgive and dream of love.

Vlll

I’ve wasted worlds
between the child I was
and what I now,
so slowly, am becoming -
and I remember:

There is yet time enough
to forgive all that I was:
The years of waste,
the years of pain,
when I hurt and loved
from such great distance.

lX

I have grown less heroic now
and when I say I do remember,
there are no ravens circling round
some tall, dark midnight tower.

Now, I simply love and live,
not for effect or for perfection,
not in denial or greed.
I’ve done a lot of miles and breathing

and I know now
I’m not wise or special -
and I’m not done with learning yet
but I’ve learnt to think and feel and love;

and that’s enough for now.
To know the truth
and the lie of the land;
to love and to grow and to learn:

to take each breath,
as it may come,
without pride,
without shame.

X

I listen to my footsteps.
I’m learning to be quiet

and I still have lots of catching up
to do with my heart.