Instinct-- (some notes from my ramblings)

Pieces of midnight ramblings, hope you like it-- it goes along with this.   

She was a pretty little thing.  Happy and smiling, just beginning to form the sounds that eventually would become words, although now it was all gibberish, gurgles and squeals of delight.  The simplest things, a cool summer breeze, sent her into spiraling, unbridled joy at the fresh, earthy smell carried on the wind.  It calmed her, too, as she drifted off to sleep in her Papa’s arms, blissfully unaware of the dangers the future held. 

Elisesofia Petlykov ran. She ran through dark, empty streets, her cloak billowed behind her, the hood drawn tightly around her face.  Silent, but urgent, like a street cat, chasing its next meal.  She did not look back.  Only forward, searching for the number on the door of the safehouse.  4498.  She had memorized it years ago, as a child—but had never once imagined this day would occur.  All these houses, silent, each exactly like the next: dark, dirty, windows locked and curtains, usually just a black cloth, closed to block any light—from the inside or out. 

Home

Well, the Earth once told me a story, though I didn’t know it at the time, of the rest of my life.  I walked down a path in the woods, weaving my way through the trees, breathing in the clean, fresh, earthy air you find only in a forest nowadays.  Birds darted among the trees around me, singing their song and hoping to find a mate.  Critters shuffled in the underbrush, scampering around as I came through their woods, startling them.  As I walked a long, for a moment I felt completely at home.  Yes, this is where I belong.  

doubt vanquished by love

I turn to see your smile and my heart skips a beat, 

my smile in return, involuntary.

I struggle to pull air back into these lungs, 

trapped in those eyes that reflect my own soul.   

You take my hand, eyes locked, 
minds interacting on a level that transcends speech--
and smile, softly, at the tear that comes, each time.


doubt vanquished by love

petrichor

bright light flashing against dark clouds, 

cool breeze flows over warm skin, 

involuntary horripilation, 

remnant of a distant life

water falls from the rumbling sky,

raindrops calm summer's burnt skin, 

cool, humid air rushes into warm lungs,

carrying earthy flavor

watch in wonder as the world rumbles

water

there is a place,
                                    its in my mind,
where rivers flow,
                                    intertwined,
across a valley,
                                    green and good,
into a basin,
                                    deep and blue,
that spans the distance
                                    from me to you.




flowing water on the mind, that rushes, cold and clean... ...
forging a new way through stubborn stone,
that life might find some solace amid the ruins.. .

sunrise

The sky is pink,
fading to blue as the slowly rising sun
illuminates winter clouds that hang,
stationary over the city.

Slow jazz floats through the air,
hanging with a smooth viscosity
that reminds me, oddly, of you.

You, drunk, slow,
sitting with your legs swung over the arms of that
awful
arm chair,
your silly smile slowly stretching into a smirk that would make the Cheshire
proud
as I tip the whiskey bottle again
and take a long drink.

And we stayed like that,
sipping whiskey straight from the bottle,
watching the sky change until the dark was gone
and I could sleep.

"Sometimes its as if the heart is torn from the chest"

the heart swells
it bursts
it bleeds


until the blood is gone


and still 


it aches
it needs


until 
all that remains is darkness
abyss, void-- that escapes definition


where once you were, smiling, warm, 
where once you were, real, whole


where once skin 
would flush and lungs would 
gasp and lips would 
tremble at touch, no, thought--


the memory does not fade,
drifting away with time as some, ignorant of love, suggest
the pain does not dull into a slow constant throb, 
no, 
it is a constant stream of electricity that surges 
-with even the most minor of mental whisperings- 
of your presence. 


and yet
each day comes
again, with the sun
and goes, 
again, in the dark


and the sirens sound, 
loud 
racing off to another's pain


and the world- 


oh the world didn't stop just for us, no, 
only my world.


and each day brings the swelling, the bursting and bleeding and the constant electrifying
and each night, too, a new surge, stronger than each preceding, 
because this mind will not permit
will not permit the memory to fade.
no. 


because every moment of love, 
every flush 
and gasp 
and moment 
where trembling hands reached out to find you in the dark


was worth this lifetime of struggle 
to balance survival against the truth of losing you. 

(Laws of Nature)

Somehow in the dark

when sleep fails

thoughts drift through the night

on autopilot.

And there you are. 

Standing in the sunshine

that breaks through the green

smiling, in the forest

at me. 

I

-- who in true form,

mud streaked face and mussed hair

look up at you,

with the deadly intoxicating scent of cyanide,

(Amaretto)

floating up  from cupped  hands

hands in which I offer you

just one of the secrets of the forest

I so love. 

And then you’re gone.

Whipped away by the sounds of the city, sleeping—

sirens pealing through the night

A reminder of the spontaneous nature of chaos.

Chaos, through which all things are formed, destroyed, reformed. 

Order only returned with energy, work- manifested in countless ways.

Sleep comes as the mind, assured that these laws of nature hold true

releases the last image of you--

smiling, in the forest

at me.

memory.

viscous days without purpose
consume the person she once was.


sometimes its as if the heart is torn from the chest.

when looking into those eyes
and seeing myself reflected back so clearly.

my heart skips a beat when I turn to see your smile.

my smile in return, involuntary.

I love so freely.
So openly, I'm sure you see it.
Everyone else does.

You're so hard to read, though.

He takes my hand and holds it in the dark,

and smiles softly at the tear that comes, each time

memory of the love we never got to keep.

viscous days without purpose.

end.

waking

i watch
the fog roll off the lake
and over the city until i am
surrounded by its thick, cold dampness
before i step into the unknown.

the darkness of winter
mornings, chill, early,
before the city awakes

allows for meditation.

i find myself--in the darkness of winter mornings.