I suffer from a thing called madness,
what else could it be?
When I can't be near you
even in words,
I feel as if I will break in two
no,
more like a thousand pieces
scattering in the wind,
to find your voice,
fall upon your skin
and sink below the surface...
I just know I would discover
there would be no more longing,
no more wondering
what it would be like
to step out of a poem
and be with you.
Erigeneia © June 2008
Comments
-
Madness indeed.
Alluring, addictive and ever so surreal, but none the less madness in any form.
I think i'd rather feel withdrawal from heroin than the longing of the heart.
-
-
Longing of the heart..it is like a death over and over again, again, I like your comparison, as each are pretty rough...
~E.
-
-
Bravo E. You always deliver a 'coup de grace' right at the end. I have spent more than two years (is it really that long now?) wondering and longing for exactly the same. Words, words, words - whether on the page, the screen or in one's ears, lack always the heat of breath on another's skin as they are spoken. Yet the drug persists, as does the madness. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself whether I would not have it any other way.
So glad that I am able to step into a poem and be with you. -
-
Thank you for reading...
~E.
-
Adding your comment:
