At times I look back to blissful blindness.
Not that I wish for such a regression
That steed I could never quite tame nor train
Was found ever charging into folly
No, loneliness be but another abstraction
no more nor less than the courtesans in one’s life.
Those who take, receive
perhaps partnered in loss or bounty.
It’s no more task or tarry to maintain oneself
than to engage in custom codependency
Biology, the mother of all conundrums
Has her devious methods and all too often
We seek medications for the drugs
already within.
Never embracing the solace
nor the opportunity to conceive ones own composition
from which they are to compose
The trivial, tragedy, conflict and comedy
all can be spattered, still to be art.
But love, love?
That, if you wish no spattering
Unconscious strokes layered finely
In a bold yet mellowed hue
That, will take a tempered hand,
a steady gaze
A soul that knows solace.
