Threaded

….some threads are needed always...

Threaded

 

 

No matter what I start out writing,

my words always return to you.

It’s both a delight,

as well as curse.

Perhaps it’s that I drink

way too much

Captain Morgan straight up,

its spiced taste tickles my tongue,

like an imagined kiss.

Or, maybe it’s burning patchouli,

incense that smells of you, and

my pen seems to know only one name.

There it is, a confession,

you know all too well.

 

I think there are lots of reason,

too many to mention actually,

but in truth,

you once told me

we were “threaded”,

woven by “old magic”,

that I was “stuck with you”.

It made me smile, since

I felt and wanted the same.

 

Then the world twisted

next to the bottomless abyss,

and everything fell.

I know the reasons,

Gravity has its pull

and you must face your journey,

and the path

that opens for you.

 

So, these words are me,

cutting the threads

I have held onto.

Though I do miss our conversations,

your world has changed.

So, these words,

is me, happy that you

found love,

that you can love again.

Something I know

you have wanted,

and needed,

for a long time;

have found peace of mind,

home.

This is me, smiling,

glad you are happy.

 

I hope though,

you will always remember me, and

know that

I have kept one unbreakable thread

attached to my heart,

with these words

written along its filament-

“ MY LOVE,

MY FRIEND.”

 

Aztec Warrior/redzone 9.8.18

Author's Note

....thanks for reading

Reviews

[kentuck14]

Red,
Really enjoyed this poem. Felt your soul sing out. Though it has a feeling of loss, I hear your wisdom in your reckoning, a winsomeness, recognizing a broken thing in your life---without bitterness. Quite remarkable.
Tom

[h d e rushin]

there is a strange feeling of self-affirmation in your poems, (which I must agree is comforting) since death, the eternal struggle that ends all beauty, provokes our own mortality. Death meaning (Wallace Stevens ) the mother of beauty. `And who hasn't been the speaker in your final stanza? Who hasn't fallen on the sword of sensual mysticism and confess this "truth" since truth in poetry is a kind of lying anyways. Our honest selves actually wants happiness for the unfulfilled yet I am reminded of how OJ, at Nicole's funeral, cried and held the babies.

Your my hero because you always say in your endings, "I recognize where I went wrong, so hear me out". great poem.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i have three marriages in the past to wonder this same thing...do you think of me from time to time...and i do wonder if we can ever totally disengage from those threads...seems there will always be few we cannot cut...and at my age...lots of life becomes memories...
j.