You shall be worshipped

siege, besieged, love, beloved

I have boarded up the windows my love, my dearest, my beloved. They can pry all they want: eyes, fingers, crowbars. To each of these we shall be impervious, to each and every one. Just imagine all those who judge and all those who nay-say braying from their outside to our in, cajoling us to come out. Thinking it some kind of siege. No, we are laying siege to them, we are stopping the masses from gaining access to our Heaven.

It is they who shall suffer the loss and loneliness of being only with each other.

Yes. You and I. We are all that we have ever needed, even since before we knew. And now we both know, we both know that we function only to rotate around each other in the clockwork of our celestial perfection. I hold your head with pillow hands, I bring sustenance to your hollow cheeks. As you drop yourself over our marital bed I pick up each black part and piece you back together. So soon you shrivel and pucker into something that will last forever -- tiny brittle and dry. Soon I will hold you in one hand, and, if I could bring myself to cry, I could reconstitute you with the moisture of my missing.


It was my love which moved you and removed you. It was my love which killed you, my smothering love that turned to rage. And just like any truly Godly feeling it shall raise you again to be ageless, it shall knight you on an altar of saints, you shall be worshipped back to life and then we can fight again. You can incite my jealousy and I will be your Abel, I can tell the story once more with knife or shove or choking hands. I will be the victim of your love and I will bear the marks of the murder that you forced upon me.

And each time murder means the same thing -- it means that true love sacrifices but forever mourns what is lost. It means that I can lie beside you and feel the same thing as you do even though we are life and afterlife apart. It means that I can lie beside you and feel.

That miraculous endlessness of sleep, that worshipful rhythm of its bowers over our heads, the way that the branches dip their necks as we do in reverence for each other.

Reviews

[Harley]

This is very thought-provoking with its quiet rhythm of enjoyed insanity and apologetic romance. It certainly shows the darker side of love: the jealousy, the obsession, the possession, the unruly and perhaps sudden sacrifice. My all-time favorite line of this is "I will be the victim of your love and I will bear the marks of the murder that you forced upon me." just because it shows that while he feels the decision was forced upon him, he still remains perhaps recklessly faithful and regretful. As always, you have a wonderful way with words and while this is dark, I still feel a lot of deeply-rooted love and adoration. Applause.

[TLK]

Yeah, this piece is pretty sick, but hides it under romance. Just like Fifty Shades of Grey, I suspect.

[Taylor]

I usually review as I read, but with this piece I couldn't stop reading. The flow was so steady and compelling. If it weren't for the narrator's dark possessiveness, it could be a beautiful love poem. Yet, I imagine that's the point -- that such intensity can go awry and result in murder. I found myself disturbed (and that's ok), disappointed in what seemed to be the dream lover who wound up being so narcissistic that he blamed the partner for murdering her. It will be interesting to see where you take this piece. I have a feeling that it won't be a very happy place, but you'll lead the reader there with utter grace. Your writing is utterly eloquent.

[Samantha Tamburello]

This is so well written it's amazing, and inspirational. It forced me to pay attention and uncover the tone, when usually I wouldn't focus or even read a poem as long as this. But I really like the style and am impressed O.O

[TLK]

Thank you, Sam. I wouldn't call this a poem myself, but it certainly has heavy prose poem qualities. It's always pleasing when a reader is impressed, and I'm very glad that you took the time to tell me your reaction.

[Astro]

"...with the moisture of my missing." Love and its subjectivity, transposed by a voice that defies trespass. I am happy, to have been lucky enough to have found a writer who, can espouse words and meaning in such a way as, to incite a wild abandon of language that we would use to describe this same thing on a daily basis. If with our everyday vernacular we could approach this amount of meaning, what tea parties we would enjoy. Stellar.

[TLK]

What you have said has given me a lot to think about, which is the sign of an excellent review. To talk about subjectivity, perhaps you need a more subjective language? (Not that everyday vernacular is exactly a tool of shared precision).

[Astro]

Unfortunately, it isn't a tool of shared precision, but in it's essence, we can aspire to understand meaning in many different ways, and accomplish the same clarity of purpose.

[TL Boehm]

And each time murder means the same thing -- it means that true love sacrifices but forever mourns what is lost.
I find myself mulling that line. So often writers write about the romantic aspect of love - the flowers, the candy, the breakups. But love is complex. I write often about agape love, but once in awhile I get cranky about the theme. I want something different. Something with teeth (and not sparkly vampire teeth) and this piece, it has a bite to it. Obviously this isn't "healthy" love but it is fully possessing another - and I find it interesting to ponder the piece...it makes me think. And that is refreshing.

[TLK]

I write to invite thought, so this is particularly potent praise. Thank you.

[Daniel Hebert]

Very Poe-esque in the form and style.

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T..]

Should you be alarmed that someone will know or may suspect why you wrote this? No. Perhaps not. There is a curious juxtaposition here that is not entirely clear: "...and I will be your Abel." Curious in that it seems a switched-role denial of facts-by-allusion. There is also a gentle, reclusive insanity that pervades the fabric of the lines; the apologetic formality in the manner that words and objects assault the endeared seem only to enhance the effect and the mood. At the end I wonder if I should consider some form of penance for having read a transcript that was/is well suited for the confessional, a priest and the omniscient attendant.

[TLK]

I'd link the 'Abel' to the insanity.

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T. Serrat]

:)

[Alvin L. Kathembe]

Macabre piece - the lines drip with poetry...this is a haunting write - the chills ran down my spine reading it!

[BlackRose]

When it's true love, it so beyond comprehension, what any ever imagined or dreamed of.. I really liked this. Great piece.

[Ed Hart]

be-hold-her, love is in the eye of