Saturday, July 1, 2017

Kindness is a Spanish Guitar

Part I.

The light filters in from the ocean side
with a benevolence totally unwarranted.
Such is earthly life in a paradise
perpetually re-conceived each day,
in spite of all our sins.

A well being fills me
not entirely due to alcohol,
but of course it's hard to discern.

Kindness abounds,
if only in my own mind.
I hear the sounds of flamenco guitars
but are they real or imagined?

To move with fluidic essence
that lives in our bones
to move with the liquid spirit
that flows through our sacred channels.

My blood and breath unite
in the acceptance of this assignment
life's forward unitary steps.

Men laugh and jest,
and it seems universal,
a timeless riposte.

Women dance around their sharpened philosophies
afraid to spill it all.
Someone told them they were too smart.

I'd introduce them
to the jesting men
if they weren't so brittle.

Some wounds need more than laughter.
The guitars might help.

Part II.

Who could even begin?

Its dissolving tongue
utters soundless words.

You sit on my doorstep
waiting for yourself
to arrive.

Myriads of time
stamped with arcane symbols
roll by my mind's eye
like a still movie montage.

We were young once
yet what a fallacy.
Youth is an eternal
state of mind.

I only imagine you with me
because you are.
You don't let go
and I castigate myself
for my attachment

When all the time
we cling like soul mates
to the raft of time.

Someday when we are
in our aerie watching this movie rerun
we will gaze at each other
and smile.

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