what it means to feel.

this morning, i found the words listed below amongst the scribbles of one of the few people i follow. this writer is a particular favorite of mine and the sentiment that he expressed in this poem illustrates a theme that often steals my mind.

i have read books. heard words. seen demonstrations. of the type of love that invades every aspect of ourselves.

it seeps into our bones and. for at least a portion of our moments. it resonates as the epitome of our world.

it’s intoxicating. beautiful. treacherous.

and it reminds us what it means to feel.

If there was anything other than you

I’d know it.

When walking down the street,

there are no clouds, no trees, no air.

I am not breathing. My heart is not beating.

The sidewalk has no cracks, the slushy wet snow does seep through my thin shoes.

The morning birds are not singing.

Cars do not rumble by as harried men search for the bouquets at the last minute.

Woman do not see me and I do not see them.

There is no noise, light, there is no dark.

There is only you.

And you are branded with every flavor I could taste in my waking hours,

Every scent lilting along the smog littered streets

every coy glance given and received

the crisp daylight streaming through the break in the overcast sky

the beeping trucks lifting snow

the children laughing somewhere down below an open window to the world

the sharp angles of elbows and phalanges cradle this sense in a person’s chest.

None of these things exist without the context,

of you.

every sunset follows every sunrise,

chasing the world around

looking for that place

I last saw you.

The pastel skies and cold river beds.

The boat dock sides and evergreen groves.

The skyscraper lines and country dell roads.

The cafe on Main and the in front of the flowercart on Second.

The parking esplanade and the robot spaceship.

You are none of those places;

I checked.  You were gone.

But here, with me, inside this lulled heart,

a mini drumbeat sounds out the syllables of your name.

Nothing’s finer than the taste of this tortured heart.

for Everything exists by this dream of you.

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One comment on “what it means to feel.

  1. Jeff says:

    Fantastic. I’m moved by your writing. I could comment on all your work. Allow me to make a blanket statement…everything I have read tonight was very good. I like some pieces better than others, but dig it all.

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