When silence isn’t quiet anymore

Do you know that sometimes, when is dark,

-really dark–

your ghostly eyes do light my path, like white, slow fires,

and in their flames I see desires?

-you think I’m blind?-

Is it true that, sometimes, when it’s cold,

-truly cold-

your icy lips do freeze the sweet and soft caresses

and all I hear is bitter guesses?

-you think I’m deaf?-

Have you see that, sometimes, when love dies,

-actually dies!-

your hopeless heart still speaks its free, wild prayer

and I am tortured by despair?

-you think I’m voiceless?-

Oh, don’t you know that silence screams the coldest blasphemy?

It turns my soul into a scene for wild obscenity!

It shouts into my helpless agony…

-that you are lost-

It isn’t quiet in its cruelty!

-When all we are is dust in savage wind,

you think I’m made of stone?-

 

 

All credits for the photo to Abigail from http://www.pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

My Dorian Gray

His photographs remind me of old paintings. Pure art, pure beauty. Portraits of the elegance within, he says.

“Call me Dorian” he told me, and I knew we’re meant to explore worlds together. His world, filled with a cold, distant beauty, the kind of grace he sees through the lens of his photo camera. My world, filled with a vulnerable, fragile love, the kind of love that left me empty and alone.

“No one sees me like you do” he used to whisper, while my eyes became a mirror for his own grace.

“No one’s willing to listen” I used to mutter, while his open heart became a safe place for me, to express unexplainable secrets.

Still, we never crossed the invisible line between friendship and love, trust and desire, confession and flirtatious talks. We kept a sense of beauty and purity in this bond that connects us. Me and my Dorian Gray.

I was the first to embrace him when he found his one and only. “Be happy!” I said with an honest joy.

He was the first to encourage me to rediscover my lost inner strength. “Stay strong” he said with a sparkling smile.

Until today.

There’s something different in his eyes. We’re alone at his studio, the doors are locked and he’s dangerously close. The ferociousness in his voice scares me. This is not my Dorian Gray, but a stranger who’s gaze flickers with lust and greed. And his words make no sense when he asks me to take off my clothes for a nude photo session.

My logical arguments are met with an ironic smile. My moral values are meaningless to him. My distress goes completely ignored.

So I appeal to his heart.

“Imagine the woman you love, being in this situation. Your one and only, your love, pressured into something like this by a friend she trusted with all of her heart.”

“Imagine how she would feel. Imagine her naked body exposed for strangers to see. Imagine the secret places only you kissed, only you loved, now becoming a public target for lustful eyes…just imagine.”

He looks at me with cold eyes.

“I can’t imagine this. It makes no sense.

Because your prince-charming does not love you like I love her.”

My Dorian Gray gave a voice to the monsters inside my head. Yes, he is right. Still, he’ll never know that, through all the pain, I learned to love myself.

And to finally recognize a Narcissist when he unleashes his rage. Better late than never.

In tears, I’m closing the door behind me. I hear him apologizing, I hear him saying all the right words, but my soul now sees him clearly. And his ugliness is shown in all its repulsiveness.

Goodbye, my Dorian Gray.

 

 

All credits for the photo to A. H. from http://www.pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

Intoxicated

The insatiable green cups of my eyes tasted your venom,

so now, drunk and weary, my tears are wandering…

You tried to kiss them, but my eyelids desperately fluttered, like two intoxicated birds escaping cages.

The broken wings of my eyebrows stretched to their zenith, until my expression was nothing but fear.

It was not innocence, the reason why I shivered under your touch,

while lips are trembling, and hearts are dying crushed by the fists of despair!

You thought my eyes are bright, but they were empty…’cause drunken tears left long ago, searching for drugs higher than love.

My green cups of fragility, doors to a soul you ravished, now learning to be sober.

Come close, my love, just taste a drop of honey, it pours onto my blushing cheek, I swear it’s sweet…

Don’t be so shy, why do you fear me? It’s only poison…

The one you gave me long ago…until…drunk and weary…and lost…

I became an addict.

 

 

All credits for the photo to the talented Felicia Ruiz from http://www.pixabay.com

 

Homesick

When moonlight rises into twilight, turning my silence into lullabies, I’m hungry for your love.

To paint the white echoes of your memories in crazy, vivid nuances,

Tell me you want me…

When angels leave and ghosts are nesting in my soul, only your voice will calm the hurricanes that scream inside me!

Trying to save my long lost conscience from drowning in despair,

Promise you’ll be…

When shelters crash and walls are breaking into this homeless, loveless inner world, I need your body to become my safe place.

Destroy the barricades between your heart and mine,

Say that you can…

I’m homesick and you know it, it feels in every kiss!

So bring me home, my love

Back to the place where you were yearning to adore me…

This time – Make it eternal.

 

 

All credits for the photo to the talented Patricia Alexandre from http://www.pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

The Collector

Aligned properly, facing the sun, the jars look colorful and happy. He drew himself the smiling faces, careful about each single detail, for they’re a pure expression of beauty and joy.

He knows about tenderness, the way he learned it all of his life, so, from time to time, he speaks soft words to the happy jars. And when a new one is added to the alignment, he sings a special song of victory.

He’s not afraid to say the words.

I love you when he runs his fingers on the top of his jars, making sure they’re all clean and pretty. He could swear that a smiling face smiles even brighter under his gentle touch.

You’re safe with me when he locks the silver cap of every happy jar, convinced that a sense of entitlement is the guarantee for every meaningful existence.

My sweet darling when colors mix together in wonderful rainbows and the happy jars are simply blooming under his safe guidance.

He’s happy with his happy jars and no one talks about dark fantasies and dirty secrets, and no one even knows…

’cause no one ever cared about those silly, dippy, giddy, pretty happy jars!

But when all butterflies laid breathless, behind the painted glass of happy jars, when painted happy faces were the only witness of the last flinch of those white pairs of wings…

when lifeless eyes contemplate a sun that’s colder than a thousand infernos…

that’s when the world you knew becomes a place of danger.

Because, you know, he still collects them, he still aligns them to face the sunshine. He still draws happy faces, endless rainbows, little pink hearts, making sure that all of his butterflies are perfectly pretty and clean inside of his happy jars.

And now he knows the secret…when they lay motionless, all butterflies turn into heart-shaped diamonds. 

And hearts are just irresistible to this kind of predator, aren’t they?

 

Note: Yes, it was about the Malignant Narcissist…

 

All credits for the photo to Jill Wellington from http://www.pixabay.com

Lavender fields

Meet me where blue petals dance in swirling winds and air is filled with wonder and bewilderment. I’m waiting there, my love.

Dressed in flowers and white butterflies, my skin will mesmerize your senses, sweet scents embracing naked souls in their flight to the promised bliss.

You’ll ask me if I’m a fairy, but I’ll only smile, leaving all witchcraft behind, for you were mine since the beginning of the earth.

I’ll ask you if you’re my long lost warrior, the one who fought odds and hazardous labyrinths, beasts and villains, kingdoms and infernos.

You’ll stop me with a kiss, for talking is nonsense and logic is overrated. I’ll laugh.

My hair will taste like summer on your lips, long golden curls nesting on your bare chest, like seraphs roaming between worlds and universes.

My sweet, you’ll call me…my everything you’ll be…

I’ll whisper your name like a spell that kills all heartbreak, in melancholic songs you’ll praise the beauty of this endless yearning for warmth.

But then, out of the blue, I’ll cross the bridge to reality, leaving our love behind, while you sleep smiling in your dreams, in cradles made of tall grass and tender blue petals.

Don’t be so sad, it’s not unfair, nor cruel or devastating…

For we belong to the lavender fields

and we will meet again…

when blue is blooming in our foolish dreams.

 

 

All credits for the photo to the talented S. Hermann from http://www.pixabay.com

 

No need to forgive, no need to forget…

“Was it just another metaphor? People closed the churches…”

“…so God opened a church in every loving heart. It sounds like a metaphor, but it’s what I truly feel. It wasn’t me who said it first, but I just love the feeling…”

There we were, sitting on a bench in front of a closed church, searching for a closure. As ironic as it sounds. Me and Christian…both of us knowing that good stories never truly end. That there’s no way to define this relationship that seemed to be old as time and still new, every time we see each other.

“What are you truly asking me, Chris?”

I said it in a soft voice, almost like talking to a child, because, despite of his bravery, in spite of his anger, his heart is just as fragile as mine. And his relationship with God is marked by bitterness, pain, resentment, rejection. His searches for love are always ending in tragedy. Not this time, not with me.

“The church in your heart, does it offer any salvation?”

I smiled and gently touched his face.

“We saved each other far too many times. I’m more than that girl you once found, crying in the rain, completely broken, so alone and so ravished…You held me through the hardest part, so my church is built on your love for me.”

“I’m more than the broken man you once smiled to, the lost, the drugged, the suicidal, the dark one. You said I can be more, so I became more. I became stronger and better. So where’s my reward? You should have been my reward! So my church is built on this never ending longing…”

And suddenly, I understood his anger. His resentment. His determination to play this role of “dark knight”. His choice for a “church” in complete opposition to Christianity.

Because I was there too! I still am…in love with the one who can’t love me back.

I thought that my love will move mountains! I thought that being the perfect wife, partner, lover, friend will be somehow rewarded. I loved until I was too exhausted to live. And I broke down in pieces when I finally realized that I loved in vain.

“I guess it’s too late for me to be forgiven…”

“Chris…”

He mistook my silence for rejection, so I just cupped his face, getting lost, once again, into the burning flames of his eyes.

“I love you, Chris. In ways I cannot explain. I don’t think this could ever change, nor I want to change it.”

“Forgive me. For stalking you. For hating you. For invoking demons, for using black magic, for every stupid, mean, wrong thing I ever did in order to have you. For stealing, for lying, for shocking you in every way I could…Forgive me.”

I hugged him tighter, knowing how hard it was for him to take off the mask, to abandon his role, to be fragile in a world that demands us to be made of stone and iron.

“No need to forgive, you are loved…” I whispered.

And this time, I spoke to myself too.

 

 

All credits for the photo to the talented Jakob Wiesinger from http://www.pixabay.com

Nothing holy about us

” -You have angels in your hair.”

He reached out his hand to touch my rebellious lock of hair, that escaped the braid and kept dancing in the wind. But then he stopped with his fingers in the air, his eyes lost somewhere in the unseen.

I found myself speaking:

“I have a confession to make. I did something.”

” -You did something…Okay, I have a confession too.”

“Aww…sure, tell me.”

” -You first”

He was different and, yet, the fire was still burning in his eyes, the calm was still hiding the monsters he’s fighting, his silence was still speaking louder than any scream. Or, maybe, I was different today. With him. For him.

“So…I have a blog. I wrote about you. I know I should have ask for your permission… I protected your identity, I swear I did! I might have exaggerate a little and some parts were wishful thinking. I created a special category on my blog and I named it “Christian – the dark side of love”. I thought it could be a novel some day. But only…”

” -A novel?!”

“only if you agree. Christian…I know it’s wrong…”

” -Wrong?”

“and if you want, I’ll just delete the whole thing. I will! It’s just…when I wrote, even the bad parts…it was…I wrote it…”

That’s when I got lost. Completely blinded by the ocean of dark flowing from his eyes.

” -You wrote it with love. That’s what you’re trying to say. I read it, I loved it. Even the part where I’m pictured like some kind of deity of shadows. Even when you turned my luciferian beliefs into a worshiping of Hell. You lied.”

The pause in his speech made my heart escape a beat and my eyes filled with tears.

“You lied. I’m not that hot!”

And he started to laugh, seeing the panic in my eyes, and it was so unfamiliar, so relieving, so normal…that I just burst into tears, laughing at the same time.

“You’re not that hot? That’s something only I would say. You were supposed to be more…more…angry…And, wait, you knew about the blog? And you said nothing? Why?”

” -Maybe I wanted to see how our story will end? Maybe I wanted you to be mine, even if it would be only fictional? Or maybe, just maybe…”

“Yes?”

He got dangerously close.

“maybe I love being the prince of darkness in all of your fantasies.”

I smiled. There was a little part of me who was still dreaming of running away with him. He was more than the classic “bad boy”, he was crossing a certain line, a certain limit I was told not to get close to, ever.

” -It was the dark in you aching to be acknowledged, expressed, accepted, even loved.”

I nodded. How is he always reading my unexpressed questions?

” -It was the light in me that needed to burn brighter. With you. And that’s not a sin, nor a bravery. It’s just who we are. Pure as snow, cold as ice, we are the sum of our fantasies. 

And, you know, there’s nothing holy about us. Except for Love.”

 

(to be continued)

 

All credits for the photo to the talented Anja from http://www.pixabay.com

Everlasting

I see wild storms rising in your eyes. 

That’s what she told me with a smile, the lost little girl. She was wearing her favorite dress, with blooming flowers on a pink horizon. She smiled and light rolled over her blushed cheeks.

I think you’ll wander for a while, lost in the rain.

She played with the big white ribbons in her hair, until blonde curls flew freely in the summer’s wind. Then, as a last symbol of her resistance to monotony, she threw away her white shoes. She laughed to see them floating and disappearing in the highs.

You’ll see the light eventually, but you’ll be too frightened to admit it.

You always are.

Her palms drew circles in the thin air, leaving golden traces, coloring the unseen into a million sparkles. She turned to me with impossible bright eyes.

You’ll run away a thousand times. The storm will almost break you. I see you searching, foolishly choosing, settling with less than crumbles. Blind to real love, for you mistook it for addiction! I see you – You Fool! – and it makes me cry.

She stood there, silently crying rivers of blue diamonds, until the sky above us became one with this ocean of hopelessness and pain. That’s when I fell.

Down on my knees, I was begging the Heavens above for one more smile.

For one more glimpse into the Light.

You have to step into the darkness, to return home. Where love is everlasting and wishes do come true. Where you two, silly dreamers, will rise in love. 

“Who are you?” I asked her, while she spread her wings and melted away in rainbows of light.

“Who is he? Who is my silly dreamer?” I whispered into the wind, too weak to find faith, too lonely to care about my losses.

Look for green eyes and lighthearted smiles. For the poetry that rhymes like a love song and for the rhapsodist who’ll write with light into your soul. Search for the everlasting.

And morning dissolved my mesmerizing dream.

 

(to Frankie)

 

All credits for the photo to the talented Anke Sundermeier from http://www.pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bless me with rain

Silky and airy – fingertips touching clouds,

Insatiably sweet – rain on my lips,

Kisses from a thirsty burning sky…

Old cherry trees, slow dancing in the misty light.

Blue petals in my hair.

 

Where do you fly so suddenly – white birds of summer?

Behind the dark, is there a brighter place?

Thief, playful wind! Give me the kisses!

The butterflies you stole from yesterday’s dream!

Soft whispers of my heart.

 

One with the sky – my dream was dying,

From ashes to restore my faith in Love!

This time I will…I promise to remember

How roses bloom in corners of my mouth.

The traces of your light.

 

I know this storm, it’s gonna be so gruesome!

I feel its voice, it hollows through my soul…

Bless me with rain, oh, God of thunders!

So that my cry would stay unseen

Into the blindness.

 

Blue petals in my hair, soft whispers of my heart,

The traces of your light into the blindness.

Is it a dream? There’s no sense in this rain!

No sense at all

To feel so lonely.

 

 

All credits for the photo to the talented Jan Haerer from pixabay.com