There is – once again – this surge of beautiful passion for, uncontrollable in it’s need for expression, – physical, emotional, verbal – for this illusion, this delusion I care for, a love I can only give ( locked within ) but never receive, for the object of my love cares not for what I have to offer and offers nothing in return. It seems that I will never be able to give, to live – out my dream- , to share, to ride upon love’s wings - for she clipped them in their infancy, while still pin feathers – as it flies into the universe of futility and into the realms of inexpressibility, imprisoned against the outside of walls of stone cold indifference ( a façade ? ) behind which, the beauty – I believe exists - I so want to experience, is herself imprisoned by parental tutelage ( father ), Polish, social pedagogy and all of the teachings from life’s experiences – to high expectations, to many prejudices’, to ingrained a belief in all the artificial, in the superficialities of life, to locked into being judgmental – judgmental, giving birth to far to much cynicism, far to much criticism ( that gives credence to all the false beliefs, clung to with such conviction ) that have made it impossible – for a man of my ( social, educational, intellectual and physical ) – to walk alongside of, down life’s highways, back roads, paths. A journey she may have chosen ?, to take alone, leaving me to take mine, on my own, all alone .
B. J. “A” 2
November 11th 2008
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield