Sunday, February 16, 2014

When I think of you...

Roses, yellow, purple red.
Odysseus stuck on an Island, Calypso playing by his side.
Yet, of Penelope his mind has hope,
A woman not the goddess of island paradise.

And he heads forward and on, as the gods negotiate to make his song,
And Calypso and paradise and eternal sunrise he forgets,
As he seeks a woman like you, his Penelope.

And when I think of you, Odysseus to Penelope,
Stuck a thousand miles away, Or something in that stead.

I think of my Penelope, and all within my head, does instead.
I think of you, and I romance your ripples and reflecting waves of jade.

And I think of you Penelope, and thoughts become lurid, and
I wonder at us so estranged by distance, and challenges famed.

I romance the thought, I cherish the image, in rippling, draining water,
And memory falters, and your voice is a sound I easily forget,
Your smell is long forgotten, It is not something within my grasp,
And your touch is distant, I grasp at the air.

Odysseus to his Penelope, and the secrets within our bliss and bed,
The wounds in my heart are the wound in my head,
The history of Odysseus to his Penelope,

But my intentions are to search, within my stead.
I seek you within the rhythms of my head,
I bid to fill the memories in with a many coloured crayon or paint the stead.

I can but await you, await your breaking upon me like the winter tides,
I can bid to wait, wait and strain.

For if we never meet in this, my stead,
It is not Odysseus to Penelope,
But a man stuck out far to sea, who dies,
Of thirst for his internal misery.

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