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Mark Wildes

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Bar Talk
by Mark Wildes

Sunday, November 02, 2003

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Recent poems by Mark Wildes
•  A Night Like Turpentine
•  Time Like You
           >> View all 3


Time stops, you contend.

I watch. I listen. I try to contend, attempting to fight off this liqueured stupor.

You are the warrior. I am the peasant. I see a beatific mystic you; the eternal bliss.

Maybe I am the eternal bliss. Perhaps you are.

I succumb to your tainted rhythms. I become you. I submerge in your beauty.
And suddenly I am beautiful, just like you.

You laugh, I giggle, wondering what you meant, trying hard to follow your voice, and articulate mine.

But you understand me, and in reality I understand you too. Sometimes though, I just canít get through the boundaries of your heart, and I can not lower the cold steel walls, that guard your soul, like gargoyles protecting ghouls, it is hopeless.

It is like a serendipitous voyage into the unknown. I seek, but I do not find.
I know exactly where it is, and what it is, but it is somehow unreachable.

I continue to venture.
I venture to worlds that I can not comprehend. It is like life without blood.
A life that is unique to you and I, both in different ways, but we unite regardless.

Like in the hands of Angels, we fly . . . but we do not feel . . . no longer needing the maculation of fluid among substance . . . blood penetrating tissue, muscle feeding bone, or a brain nourishing a thought.

We drift in our own stream to the estuary of our spirit. It is there, in an ocean of fire and ice, where it all comes together . . . like one.

I order another drink, and drown in the moment. Time stops, you contend.

M and T.
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Reviewed by Tami Ryan 11/2/2003
I enjoyed this!
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