- Books, Literature, and Writing
Fear Of Walking Forward
[I have this hub account under my joke of an online name, "Matt Hatter" but I published this poem a while ago under my real name, Sean Rice.]
Fear of Walking Forward
by Sean Rice
You cannot remember when
the summer nights that wouldn't end
and the leaves of autumn falling
like gold from the trees that the soft wind would rend
never would mean that the Winter was calling
you close to it's empty embrace.
You cannot think of a time
when the laughter of a man over sweet cups of wine
and a touch did not come at the cost
of your smile -- lost 'cause you thought that you might have been blind
to the pain that would follow; to which you'd be tossed --
your pleasures gone without a trace.
How much you fear to be forgotten
neglected on the shoals and rocks of shifting alliances
remembered only as a dalliance
an infatuation; love misbegotten...
are you only to be one's misspent youth?
You ponder the road that lays before you
but look only at it's many branching paths for a clue
to the one that will bring you -- not a warmth to your heart --
(no, you cannot hope for that, for what would ensue
but the misery of broken promises that always seem to fall apart?)
only for less pain do you plead your case
You walk in circles and dream your many dreams of tomorrow
tending your spot in a clearing long grown fallow
for even nothing at all can be too much to lose
and when you 'think it through' you'll stop; your reasons shallow
even to your own ears (but how can you choose?)
"I cannot," you'll say and bittersweet is your sorrow laced.
Will young men someday walk past you
talking of Michaelangelo?
The wind blows it's hatred outside my window as I write,
but it's bellowing is impotent and portends no change
whimpering, finally it turns in utter defeat to range
beyond the hills... I'm saddened at it's loss of fight
and wish upon it more patience.
Your eyes are often a barely-flickering flame of hungry consideration:
blazing, beautiful ice, too, quickly extinguished in reconsideration.
They shine in the light of any future that should dare to take you away
until you turn - burned - remembering once again to shun
even that appreciation of your worth -- even that will seem to play
against hints of deep desires you will not face
You cannot bear it, not to hide.
Not the casual touch, nor compliments, nor depth, for fear you'll fly
away to somewhere far away in sudden chatter, eyes hidden.
You are a wild doe desperate to avoid the outstretched hand, shy
to the intimacy imposed upon you; relentless and unbidden...
You'll say, for feelings such as these you have no taste.
Cannot these words touch you? Even with no one there to see?
Can you not hear the voice in your head speaking insistently?
Men: you'll watch them come and go
talking of Michaelangelo...