Sunday, October 16, 2005

A few words left lingering from paens past...

Our faces speak and our eyes listen. True love loves lovers and true lovers melt form.

When I am with you sleep does not disturb us, and without you I am sleepless.

I am a copy, a fake. Listen to me my dear: I am not real. I am an illusion; all that you see is but a reflection of something else. I am just a surface, the thin film of a water pool thinking itself to have depth. There is no depth in me but the thinness of my skin.

In your eyes I see a lake beyond: water of endless glistening that drowns me in my breathlessness. How can I become like you? How can the mimicry of my life lose itself to find the original art? How can this mystery be done, my love?

Can you share with me your secret? I am dying here without knowing; there is no real life for a copycat. There is no true beauty for a fake.

I am a forger. I once convinced myself that I was the great artist, now I know I was only a forger of his name.

How can your mysteries be known, my love; how can the deceiver lose his deception?

Must I wait long for an answer?

The undone too

The present moment lasts all our life
and still it is very short.

Fingerprints return to dust eventually –
is this what we want to hold onto?

We mark ourselves by our own passing,
our own internal grading.

I have no regrets in anything that I have done,
and bless the undone too.