Gave away Bilbo today, the heart seems strangely vacant.
I never knew, I never knew,
The pain of being torn from my mother,
At the age of two.
I couldn’t say what I would feel,
If I had a home of hunger,
Made of still water and steel.
I cannot fathom to analyse,
The hour upon hour of work,
Amid raucous human cries.
You flip, wave, splash and turn,
While the audience roars,
While for decades you burn.
They take your penis and your sperm,
They scour your mind and your heart,
They leave you bitter and infirm.
I have seen the wild, the wild,
In cold seas, under violent skies,
In the innocence of a child.
My heart breaks; for I know,
Being what nature made me,
What should be just so.
Do you yearn for who knows where?
There is but little earth left to you,
The oceans themselves are despair.
If God exists, you are the sin,
You became legion,
You, with your collapsed dorsal fin.
When hearts grow into winter’s bitter cold,
They have no hope for the nurturing care,
Which they remember well from times gone old,
Though all of memory lays frozen bare.
The branches of blood lie flowerless weak,
The body of sky breathes chalky white,
The birds of summer can not chase and seek
The flight of age into the milky light.
Silence in everything. No bell tolls.
For none now live in love’s antechamber.
Seasons have passed through, each with its own goals,
All the hard heart does is try and remember.
Remembering spring, summer, and the fall –
Even if love did not run through them all.
Good things do not last long, it’s the truth;
They fade out, they vanish, they end;
I keep thinking they will last, last through time;
I cling on to hope, I grasp, I even pretend.
The good is relative, the wise ones say;
The good comes and goes only to come again.
The wise ones nod their wise heads and ask:
What is it that I really hope to retain?
I do not like the wise, they instil doubt;
They make the good not seem so good;
And I wonder if I hope, for what was that?
And if I hope again, if I really should?
I think and I think and wisdom surfaces;
I can almost feel the wise ones smile;
I see myself a little clearer, the same truth,
That I disregarded for a little while.
It is a sign of a deep seeded analysis,
Of some jargon from freudian slips,
Of hurt that male figures left behind,
On my doubtful soul, on my hungry lips.
I see this truth again, and feel the scorn
Of all those who claim to be so very wise;
I see myself as I forever have,
Through the ones I want, their very eyes.
I wish I knew how to make peace
With this clueless boy within me.
How do I make him understand
All that is but what he cannot see?
The perspective of self, mirror and eyes,
Will always wary, so maybe stick to one?
The wise ones will always say, perhaps,
There is no choice, when there is but one sun.
So as wisdom prevails I must tell him
Look to self, let mirror and eyes shatter;
Men will come and go, come and go,
It’s only you that will, in the end, matter.
You came to me upon a chance;
You took my hand, led me to dance;
I could not tell then from your eyes,
If passion remained in disguise:
I recalled all your words and pain,
Sensibilities lived again;
I know not what brought you so close;
If I believed, I’d say god knows;
We danced and then we hugged goodbye;
We kissed and I may never know why.