Hunger

We approach each other cautiously.
Our words tempting. Our actions teasing.
Circling our desire like two hyenas circling a kill.
Slowly challenging, a dance of words and glances,
Touches that hint at lust.

Delaying the inevitable.
Building the tension.
Circling in the dust.

Then in a moment, one word, one touch, and our restraint is gone.
We move in to tear at the flesh of our desire,
To bloody our jaws with it, to lose ourselves in lust.

Animals unleashed, uncontrolled, unstoppable.
A force of nature we cannot stand against.
We sate ourselves on pleasure, leaving destruction in our wake,
Devastation in the dust.

At last we rest, gorged and satisfied,
Until the hunger rises within us once more.
As we both know it must.

The Prisoner

Not my best writing, but an idea which will not be silenced.

The Prisoner

Naked, he huddles in his cell
Lost in the dark.
Tortured by demons only he can see.

She enfolds her arms around him
Protecting him from harm.

Sightless, he strikes out in defence
Seeking to hurt.
Torment is all he feels, he senses only pain.
Held, yet he can not feel her touch
She clings to him tightly.

His fingers clawing at her face,
Drawing her blood.
She raises no hand to wipe it away,
She does not loosen her embrace,
Holding him till dawn.

The light streams weakly through the bars,
He lifts his head,
He sees her face, their eyes meeting,
The vigil over, love rejoicing
He knows her touch at last.

Intangible Gifts

People give each other presents all the time. Sometimes those presents can be seen, held and even wrapped. Some presents, on the other hand, have little or no physical reality at all.

I was once given a poem. Actually over the years, I’ve been given several, some of them even written by the donor, but this one was extra special. I used to sit, curled up on the bed, listening to it being read for me by someone special. I’ve treasured it ever since. It’s actually a gift which later became tangible, when he gave me a book containing that same poem.

Similarly I have been given music. Sometimes in physical form on cassette, sometimes merely through a shared listening. Many of those songs are special to me still. Nobody’s ever written a song specifically for me yet, mind you. Feel free to try.

Rarely I am given a place, a location with some special significance, they too remain in my heart forever.

Don’t get me wrong, I love opening big, brightly wrapped boxes and finding out what’s inside. But the gifts which leave the biggest impression are those given from the heart.

And so, the poem in question still moves me, and I still think very fondly of the man who read it to me, so long ago. Let me share it with you all. Another intangible gift.

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

by W. B. Yeats