The Man Who Sold The World Replies

a love story Nirvana style...

 

 

THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD REPLIES

　

There is no dream on Walden’s Pond

where once blue-green waters

lapped the shores noisily

in the liquid swirl of an October wind.

Long gone is Neruda’s verse,

the vision of the isle he called home;

the salty breeze, seaweed and sand

he found in the rugs, in his bed

reminding us the way the ocean

ignores our being.

It just continues on, timeless, alone.

 

No, there are no dreams,

no hopes, no desires,

just the whispering of the lonely sea

counting each grain of sand

until the end of tides.

 

So really,

there wasn’t much to sell,

just the constant ocean pull as it

threw out its waste on countless shores:

shells, dead plants,

ships that dared to roam on its waves,

then crushed for their arrogance,

drift wood,

even human souls,

all cast upon the shores.

So what I sold was waste;

wasted lives

and their deepest sin.

All because I met you.

You, all green eyed innocence

desiring the sweetness of life,

alive with song.

But Morrigonu,

that "Damned Queen",

she saw you,

possessed you with her false dreams

and shattered my hopes for eternal life.

 

Yes, its true,

before she could take you

I snuck into your room,

it was the eve of your wedding,

but I didn’t care.

Nothing mattered except to drown in your kiss,

to bathe in your woman’s scent

and make you mine!

 

Yes, you screamed at my audacity,

at my atrocity as you mounted me and

begged for release

as we rocked undulating like ocean waves

and we made our blood pact.

I took you again and again and we floated on the moon.

All the while you cursed me with your tormented rage.

I think it was this rejection that

caused me to finally give in to Morrigonu’s demand.

She banished me to remain forever under the sea,

pinning ceaselessly for your bloodless white, creamy skin;

for the shape of your breasts nestled against my chest.

Dreaming of your emerald green eyes

and the beauty of your face;

hungry for the taste of your still innocent lips

where songs of the Moors play on.

 

What else could I do?

In protest, I sold the world.

Yes, because I could, but even more

cause you were still there

and I couldn’t have you!

Maybe like everything else,

I too will wash up on the shore.

Sins shaped as drift wood,

wrapped in sea weed,

smelling of salty decay.

Then I will come for you my love.

~~redzone~~

　

Author's Note

never try and write a love poem while listening to Nirvana... nope, never..

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i felt lost at sea with this one...not in terms of getting nothing from it...but it put me out there on the waves drifting...alone, feeling a loss of something i never even had to lose in the first place.

that small taste of love, knowing there would be no entree, that it was just a tease.

swept me from shore.

[redflutterby]

Dare I say this is exquisite in its pain and passion? I'm truly at a loss for any words to describe this...it has the feel of an ancient epic. It goes in my favorites to be read again. Sigh...

[redzone]

aaaww Red, thanks.. I am happy you liked..

[redflutterby]

Youre welcome...and I loved it!! ;-)

[Sami Khalil]

"No, there are no dreams,

no hopes, no desires,

just the whispering of the lonely sea

counting each grain of sand

until the end of tides."

A very sad write but one that we all go through in life. We are swept away by the lonely tides and relevant emotions. We mistake false dreams with real ones. Keep up the hope of tomorrow dear poet. I love this write...:)...................

[redzone]

thank you my friend

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome muchly...:)................