On the Dark Underpinnings of Love
Is love raw passion?
Or learning to tolerate
A good-hearted soul?
Should I feel breathless
Or is it too dangerous
To forfeit control?
Is love just habit
Or is it something profound?
Will I ever know?
What does love look like?
Would I recognize its face?
As friend or as foe?
Does love clip your wings
Is it mesmerizing flight?
Shackles or freedom?
Will I still rejoice
In the dawning of each day?
Have dreams or cede them?
On the Art of Doing
History is the gone, the never reclaimed
The thing that's always whispering in the shadows
The lover you couldn't quite tame, and so
Remember with a smile or a stiff drink
The one that got away
The one that makes you think.
And theory is the fickle future's caress
Dark unknowns become silhouettes
You know how it makes you feel
Alive and undressed and pressed against a wall
You can do something, or nothing at all
But the present is the story, your only real posession
Linear life marching in formation as you look on
Tantalizing words joining one another in tidy little rows
To form scenes and shed light and delight your senses
It's the only fulfillment you've ever known
The embrace at last.
The would-be, has-been lover's a thing of the past
You reflect on what you've had and what you might enjoy...
Until you find yourself alone again
Scotch in hand, by a lacklustre fireside
You lament...but confess, that at least you tried
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