"This Time Is Worse Than Before"Last night, a dream gave visual to what sudden outbursts at inopportune times, despondency, and feeble attempts at words could not articulate.
I stood at a white, rose-shaded casket.
Yet, the year was not 1984, but twenty-five years later_ the current year.
As I stood, I told a women, who I assumed to be the director,
“This is the second time she has died, and this time is worse than before!”
Indeed, I had happened upon the fulfillment of every man’s unconscious ambition.
What are the chances of finding one whose kiss is everything,
With whom one makes love in climactic harmony,
Yet in whose breast he finds comfort that only a mother may bring?
Yea, I am a man; I am a child, altogether.
Like an illegitimate child, though, I was unplanned.
Is this not too much to bear for such a delicate creature?
She releases me into, seemingly, more capable hands.
But she lives,
Blood of my blood, heart of my heart, soul of my soul!
Does she not know that I am ripped apart at the core?
Is this pain un-mutual?
Would the grave not be more welcomed than such hurt and rejection?
Yes, it’s as if she hath died, yet this time is much worse than before!
December 31, 2009