illusions illumined

Forgotten, until this moment, the waining of my enthusiasm, and ability, to love a woman as only a man could or should. Is the simple sense of how it never gave more than a fleeting pleasure for afterward was always the question; “did you put the garbage out?”

Women.

Astonishing!

So pragmatic . . . riddled with love’s darts and little swimmers, of need she must be.

. . . add, for me, it was never a thought to be warmed of a cold November night, clammy the sea enshrouded and I near death; at any contact, flesh to flesh, save for the frenzy, I sweat. Remembering my son’s head as I prayed that God take me instead of him, the wringing wet hair in my hands. 

So odd, no excuse nor rationalization, better I’d left than stayed, for eventually I would have fled, love expressed vital instead of rigamarole/rigor mortis, same same, silence. 

“The way of a man with a maid . . . “ 

REALLY!

I can count on the fingers of one hand the few who seemed to nourish nurture one another beneficially. At that I have met hundreds if not thousands of such wed . . . rarer than genius is love and of love best friends better.

As a child I sought the mirror of love in a woman’s eyes. Disremembering that in his own home a prophet is but a fool. Now a stranger in a strange land estranged I lurch forward to whatever is to be. No stranger to myself.

Jesus is generous while Exxon is Judas . . . just conjecture, a rogue thought as I arose this happy day, good tide.

Rampant, exultant, jubilant and surprised, endlessly, these Easter and Christmas Morns reprised daily. I love too ferociously and lust less for consummation, save in this, the better good for her than me.

04:34

Witnessing death, in my arms, my children, friends by choice or chance - disease, and those I loved, especially at hospice, leaves me without fear of it for myself. Lending a sure urgency to applaud those who live yet know it not but merely exist indifferent celebrate nothing but usury.

I can lend you nothing but my curiosity, lifelong, what does resurrection mean? If nothing I can see, sense, taste, touch it seems more in particle than whole, same as was? No. Different I think for the world turns faster towards its own demise. In itself usury smothers and the meek remain suffocated. But do they? 

die!

or live forever more as did He does . . . 

and for love I would comfort those about to die but denied I am left to wander painting my thoughts upon the night for those of us who remain oblivious equally sailing the solar winds;

be well and rejoice, again I say or suggest rejoice!

. . . far be it for/from me to inflict/impose upon your slumber those amongst the living dead

130331 02:58 illusions illumined

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved