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Are We Ever Really Lost?

Updated on September 28, 2014
maramerce profile image

Melissa is a professional poet and writer. She currently has several works in her "vault" that she plans on publishing when she gets to it.

Perhaps it’s because we have the foresight of children that we believe we are lost in the Amazon rainforest when we are only camping in our backyard a little ways from the warm glow of the house. Not to diminish the perspective. A beagle is still a scary threat to an ant even if it is just a lovable pet to a human. Its paws are still big enough to trample all the day’s hard work, even destroy the entire colony in one playful romp whereas we people are merely inconvenienced by the dirt the pup traces from the yard into the house.

Perspective goes both ways though. Up the mountain. Down the molehill. The scale may or may not be to actual size depending on the person measuring the distance, how up he or she is for the challenge. The more prepared we are for all of life’s happenings, the easier it seems. Yet some things in life are impossible to predict or prepare ahead to experience.

Love being one of the least predictable. It makes us crazy. We behave in ways we never thought we would. We become our own angels and demons. We lose ourselves in it. But are we ever really lost?

Maybe heartbreak is just a path out of the wilderness. It leads us to the heights and depths of our emotional existences. We soar high and dive low, going wider and deeper into ourselves than ever before. This is where we find out who we are. This is where the edges of the earth are defined, the boundaries laid out clearly enough to explore, and the lonely surface raised to meet our feet as we go.

We sit around fires at night and tell stories to one another. We share what comforts. We lean in to the wiser and the older. We secretly feel hope as we watch them kissing their lifelong lovers. It won’t be this way forever. Someday the trees will clear, the sky will bend into an endless panoramic love for each of us. Two by two and one by one. Paradise will be found and all will come.

Excerpt of Poems from My New Book This Year

I've taken a lot of inspiration from my reading of Nietzsche and his "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" for this book as well as mingled it with my own exploration of disillusionment.

The Good and Evil We Are

We destroy what was
to create what is,
the necessity of reinvention.

We breathe our villains into being
by the fire.

We chisel our heroes in stone.

Tell the timeless tale
to make meaning for ourselves,
seeing faces in the shadows
where there is no one looking
out for us.

We are alone in this
battle with invisible forces.
We are the only hands moving
the pieces on the gameboard.

There are no other players.

We is a lie.  There is only I.
And there is no TEAM in I.

There is no dream of love in this life.

We die alone.

--Mara Merce

To Look at Life Without Desire

We start new lives today.

I with him.
You with her.

For all it was worth
we were a story in a book.
Not a fairytale.

Just an ending
meant for new beginnings.

We lost enough to appreciate winning.

To love the earth as the moon loves her,
and to touch her beauty only with my eyes
sounds romantic despite Nietzsche
meaning something else.

I’ve forgotten you by his hands,
erased you with his tongue exploring
my mouth, left your world behind
as he entered mine.

So this is love—
pressure points and fingertips,
blushing eyes and busy lips.
The rubbing of thighs is better
than a supernatural high.

Still, sometimes I feel you
inside too.  Sorrow stirring
some long lost ache,
soul searching pain.

It’s just an old wound
my bones feel when it rains.

One lifetime is all we get.
The thousand we promised we’d spend
together simply doesn’t exist.

All we have are moments.
Enjoy them.

--Mara Merce

What Crooked Paths

He who masters himself
baits his own hook, his wormy
vices explained in valorous words
as though the wood were soft,
the coffin hardly nailed.

Thy Kingdom come
and you will
come as surely as the kingdom.

The secret lives,
the inner child you gagged and taped,
bound tight inside
the death of a purest dream.

We fight ourselves for pleasure.
We pleasure ourselves when we are tired,
the agony in us ecstasizing our demons.
Uncompromising lust succumbed to
in one long thrust.

No, it is not just.
No, it never was.

--Mara Merce

Where is Beauty?

You carved my name
into your arm
the way I starved my way
into your heart

the pain means
we will never be
apart

bonds like chains
keeping us
in line

walking together
feet inching
into miles

we take
more than what’s given

love
sex
money

it’s all a drug

heart
soul
time

we never have enough
time.

--Mara Merce

You Dark Ones, You Nocturnal Ones

Take a different lover
every day of the week
make each one think
he has you
longer than the moment
spent inside you.

It’s whore’s breath
and baby’s blood,
the legacy of unlove
I was born to inherit,
loins of mistrust
paid for wallet lust.

Do you want to take a flight?
The ticket is free,
but it will cost you the night.
In truth, it will cost you everything.

You won’t know the price
until the vice has been paid for,
regret sown in the bed you unmade.

We all want someone else’s hands
unmaking us,
tearing our bodies down
as we build our inner walls,
the way the heart splits then hardens,
cemented fingerprints and names,
the exact spot it had been broken,
lost in the cracks, sidewalks and faded chalk
outlines—POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS.

--Mara Merce

Time Was My Sole Contemporary

My body is scared.
You are the crow.
You peck me, a crumb.

I only have faith in faith.
Not you.

My original is a sin.
You want me to be
a carbon copy.

What is true to you.
Nothing.

What is true to me?
Everything.

It turned out the fear wasn’t
that you’d love someone new.

It was that I’d love someone too.

--Mara Merce

Their Great Men

We celebrate them busts and banners,
enlarged headstones and grave manners.

We bronze their horses in monumental parks,
etch their faces in gold and stone while
we keep watch over their buried bones.

What makes them so great?

They thought something
and wrote it down.

Somebody else
bound their thoughts
and passed them around.

A law was made.  A war was waged.
A life was lost while another was saved.
And that’s enough

for history classes.
An oral tradition making the dead famous
in new mouths.

Why do we need them around?

The repetition of their names forces us
to repeat their god-damned mistakes.
We think for them instead of for ourselves,
toasting vanity as we lower our glasses.

We forget the things that made them asses.

--Mara Merce

© 2014 maramerce

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    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 2 years ago from Queensland Australia

      Mara, this is one of the most beautiful hubs I have read in awhile. Love the images, the message and the poetry. It was a delight. Thank you. Voted up.

    • maramerce profile image
      Author

      maramerce 2 years ago from United States

      Thank you! It's the first Hub I've written in a year so I'm glad you like it. I hate that I've gotten so busy lately that I've not had the time to think let alone write, but my poetry is always old faithful, the steady creative companion I can rely on to be there. Thanks again for reading it! :)

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