The fog consumes, my vision is obscured, but I endure,
and still able am I to procure the vision that is the amorphous light….so bright….
I feel as if I float while I am high by her very sight…the angel in flight…
Is it a mistake, wanting you to be the best? That it has been but not long and
I elect you to serve as judge, jury, oxygen and life vest?
(You’re not like them; you’re better than the rest).
Anxiety is not an imbalance of the chemicals it’s always a moment in time,
it stops on a dime to greet you, to meet you, to consume and besiege you.
I’m happier than a child on Christmas one day,
but give it a passage of twenty-four hours and I’m begging for the feeling to stay.
About-face and audible, let’s try for a change, maybe this requiem
will become a symphony on this very same page to conquer the rage,
to break free of the cage – please puncture the malevolent quilt of sorrow; target and engage.
I beg for the music of love to flow; may it fill,
enlighten and express me: the vicarious vessel of tenderness’ eternal symphony.
And naturally they flow, the elegant lyrics pen themselves in whimsical rows,
they fill the measures the staff and score replete,
the arpeggios of divine pulchritude sing in love’s sublime beat…
The angelic eyes warm like seraphic wool.
The fiery blue that enters my optic windows and illuminates the soul.
The kinetic fury of the icy beauty softens my heart into pathos of passionate purity.
That iris, the trigger the impetus the cue,
forever imbibed are words and actions by that all-encompassing hue.
And when my eye absorbs your gaze, I am for days in a daze;
lost enduringly am I through your aura’s haze, blissfully the ignorant wanderer
in the corridors of love’s benevolent blinding maze.
I take your hand in mine (manifest is love’s congenial sign).
The skin alerts my senses to perception of God’s dances
of love and life and divinity; it’s the kinship of benevolent creatures
that have drawn a special sunrise for you and me;
it is a day of ‘new’ stenciled in the sky – vibrant oranges, nourishing reds in the canvas confide. And it all comes from your touch, your skin;
let it be no sin, but the feeling of your palm to my own will
for all eternity make the trees of the wicked bend and moan.
So create a love to never defeat, a perennial heart’s steadfast beat,
and with that hand in mine I’ll stroll the wrong way of any one-way street.
And the beauty of that skin and those eyes are akin to the voice
that glides through the air where the other angels have been.
The words you unshackle defy speech; they are music,
the harmonious cantata that accompanies your body’s rhythmic sonata.
Others’ melodies are barren, depleted and untrue, and not unlike the other angels that sang too,
the human schema of ‘beauty’ shan’t dare to compete with you.
Too trite to say I’ve never felt in my life such a way,
though too much a lie to not question ‘why’;
These moments of happiness – perhaps deservedly nigh.
And I awake alone, poignant to say I’ve no need for a phone
but perhaps more so to say loneliness cuts deep as bone.
I feel now the truth, your matters of communication are but uncouth;
It hurts to be ignored, to be lead on and forgotten are the good moments from before.
Do not turn the other way, do not look for games to play,
do not go back to platitudinous days of an endless imbued substance haze,
just please open your ears and listen to what I have to say…
Scattered as seeds, love was sown.
The angel’s voice – a dial tone.
Distant Angel – my silence, my bellowing din.
Distant Angel – my serenity, my insatiable sin.
Tony Blauvelt 03/21/2013 completed