WOVEN IN THREADS OF LOVE’S FORGIVENESS
Time-tested love, bruised and battered,
Lay like littered crystals, sprawled out
Over the steel-plated stage of life—
Dismembered and crumbled—
Like stale cookies, whose particles have lost
Their electromagnetic-like attractiveness:-
Ingredients of envious spices,
Try to inhibit any and all adhesiveness,
That tough, threading love has kneaded:-
However, seaming forgiveness, knits
And weaves supreme love together:
Cocooning new soaring beginnings.
Indeed, the most fragile butterfly wings—
Soaring in monarch majesty—have conquered
Time-tested winds of trials and tribulations:-
Yes, “...to err is human…and to forgive, divine.”
May the weaving threads of supreme love, forever
Twine and bind, these blessed hearts of yours and mine:-
Oh I'll make my metal croak and creak,
As it rusts
And rots -
Powdered orange dust
For as a child I wished to water
A garden of vines and blooming trees.
And now I remember
My dreams geared to grow -
A magnificent forest before society saw.
And see they did, and seize it too,
And cease my heart from wishing true.
So now my 'perfect' scientific arms
And 'perfect' brain
And 'perfect' legs to march
Stores all my love
Under steel-plated skin -
Thick and hard to fake the merry mirth.
But tears I cry into this can of mine,
To water only the scrapyard of dreams,
And may it grasp and may it curl
May it feel beyond my robotic means.
And may it twist and may it unfurl
May it heal beyond my robotic seams.
I feel like an antiquity
some relic from the past
crumbling at the edges
eroded over time
aging has arrived
There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor
once invincible
reality is bringing with it a heavy blow
it creeps upon you
like a stealth thief in the night
now you berate yourself
for being caught unaware
new words slip into your vocabulary
things like “possible stroke”
a litany of tests are conducted
let’s begin with a blood test
maybe a urine sample
we can schedule an MRI
is this a heart attack
there is a CAT or CT scan as it is known
what about the C word, cancer
let’s do an ultrasound
ff that doesn’t find it there is always
an endoscopy or colonoscopy complete with biopsy
the realization that life’s destiny is prevailing
is the end nigh
the relic you have become
looking at you in the mirror of life
Andreas Simic©
Pale face, blue eyes
goddess of the night
she fakes subtle smiles
wish I may, think I might
long for her in my sight
warm my heart, calm my mind
her eyes pierce through me even though she’s blind
I’d give my life if only I could, but she’d never accept it although she should
I’d give it all just to see her beyond my dreams
love was the martyr for man long ago
it separates the rust from my steel plated heart, this I know
if only she knew how much she means
if only she could see the life she brings
and the light she shines in this hope-ridden world of mine
I see her every time I sleep
she sings a song, a song so deep
just as deep as my wounds, oh how they bleed
my only hope, and only delight
is to see her tonight but not through my eyes
just sight doesn’t satisfy for I know I can see her in the day, but to truly see her I must delay until the hour at which the new day wakes
in that hour I shall see her but not by the breath of life
I shall see my goddess and her beauty, but not by the sense of sight
Beautiful, burnished, brilliant
Yet, my ink friendly inclinations produce a chemical discrepancy
And now, you come – Artist
Scratching, on my polished mental plate
Do not blacken me with your fumigating candle
Do not soak me in your acidic bath
Yet, here you are, sketching to leave your design
Ever so lightly, you etch, carefully, penetrating
Acid soaks into your carefully drawn lines
The depth of your influence is varied
Teasing a relief by removing your blackened wax
Only to soak me in your iniquitous ink
Here, I must bring it an end. I must stop you - Artist
I must cleanse my mental plate
Chasten long and purposed for that original surface
Until a polished steel-plated revelation
Yes, there, beautiful, burnished, brilliant…perfect, if not for
Your Latin radere
The etchings of your needle
The stain of your ink in my serrations
My effort seems wasted
The vestiges of your ink tainting all that I touch
Now, everything has your art
Like wetted paper onto my mental plate
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