poetry

vesicle

Since a boy, I’ve known this of myself, tho I’ve pretended, wishing otherwise as I wept inside my tall solitude– I’ve known this of my creed, be there any still remaining, unhidden, be there any known to themselves. We are a translucent-walled love, our empathy outwardly facing, loving without limit of judgment, living only to give until our souls would perish of our love’s gifted sanctuary– and as the phoenix, able to resurrect after we’d been extinguished, burned to ash, staggering bloodied after impalement by doubt’s curved-sword blades, rising– to love again, unable leave even one vagabond spirit behind, tho we’d be labeled unchaste, misconstrued, mistaken, leaving none forsaken– if only we’d enough days, enough sunrise-promises for all, aye– to fall, smitten with each lovely essence encountered, even in our forced silence, tho not intended to be loved in return; our souls’ presence felt, a warm strangeness blanketing the bleak winter of lonesome moments, as we visit, carried upon a stilling wind’s drift, and of our hearts, torn and bleeding, tho inviolable– no corked-bottle wall shall hold our shape within its tapered-green-glass confinement. Only this clear, oily-shine sphere, its pale rainbows sliding ‘crost our compassion’s curved-lens vision, this aqueous vesicle into which we’d been born, in which we live, and that in which we shall pass, may we call our home.


I’ll be re-writing this until my last day, never really finding the right words.

Published by

Eric

I've come to write.

11 thoughts on “vesicle”

  1. This is going to sound odd, but thank you for writing pieces that make me feel and think and also pieces that don’t make me feel terrible after I have read them.

    I am always happy to scroll past a post of yours on my feed and read it.

    Great work.

  2. Wow. I always said good Spanish snaked down the page, and good English was made of discrete blocks of linguistic Lego, but here you’ve proved me wrong. What a beautiful handsome wall of meaning you’ve gone and created here. (That sound is me taking my hat off to you and chomping it down …)

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