Position

Collaborative work with Kublakhan27

05/18/15

I picked up a stone from the sea;

With much love, set it free from its position

Of raging watery depths.

I kept it close always -

At hand, at heart,

Warmed by what's warm of me.

And still, while I knew it,

It did not know me.

Inclinations of luster rapped

On its slimy crud

Like an angry neighbour's knock.

I harboured no illusions

Of defaulted rehabilitation,

Only an internal vow to nurse with an abandon

Somewhere between soft and reckless.

And like a nurse paired

With a patient over time

I came to know it, but a stone can only know

Its kin in the manner of another species.

It was sick from the cold shoulder of the sea

And in its rapt senility,

It never learned to know me.

Haunted by incessant visitation

Of a notion that some other hand is

Authoring not my life story

But my life.

This embezzlement of conscience

Nullifies every yearned penny from heaven

That could summon an epiphanied soprano

From my muted investment in identity,

Warming me with the soulful blanket

Of assurance that I one day myself

Will know me.

In my heart, still, an inclination

From which to fight and to be freed?

Or follow as a vein -

This need, a need to be known

Without the bitter breath of disdain.

Without explanation,

Of one's own accord,

To save or be saved a non-necessity

By which to not be plagued,

Not to grieve the absence as a parody,

Not to stuff as to blur disease

Or powder scars,

Nor erase else which makes me

Me...

...Whilst I become the rock

Rather than the tree.