Black Notebook #2

Another couple of entries from this last semester.


2.

Finality is false.
Tomorrow is promise.
Today is possibility.
And self-awareness is power.

Deep within,
infinite potential awaits.
The light that breaks the seal is
the light that shines within us.
And that light shines
when we finally accept that
we have always been enough.



3.
I shouldn't look.
I should lower my eyes and avoid you.
You are not like me.
You do not share my passion.
And you are spoken for.
     So a simply look does no harm, right?
I'll just look for a moment.
     My god, you're beautiful.

But of course you are.
Because while your visage emanates pleasure,
Your soul is to me a blank slate.
And I can paint whatever I want in you.
     So I make you perfect.
And you become perfect sensuality.

I'll never touch you.
Never speak.
For the moment I do you'll shatter.
What I've made of you will be in shambles.
For perfection is best left to dreams and fantasies.
And you're best seen from a distance.



4.

Like a moth to light, I am drawn to you.
I have a need, a thirst! to look and be near you.
You seem to shine, all of you,
and I wonder how it would be to be yours,
 Each in turn.

I imagine waking up in your arms,
Looking into your eyes as morning breaks,
Kissing your cheek.
I look from one to the next,
living a lifetime in a glance.

Why do I look?
Why do I wonder?
I have arms and eyes and cheeks all my own.
And I love those eyes, arms, and cheeks.
So why do I look,
and watch,
and wonder?
Why do fiery passions of "what if"
flood my veins?
Why do I feel this desire clawing at my skin,
trying to tear from within its fleshy prison?

What is the master emotion?
Is it fury?
Perhaps sorrow.
Or joy.
Does anger's power make all exempt?
No,
what a foolish question.
Humanity echoes from ages past and present
that love is the master emotion.
For love contains all the rest.

But what kind of love is king?
Does lucid infatuation rule?
Or does pleasure?
Perhaps passion owns all the rest.
Or romance.
Or is it yet contentment?
Comfort.

I have comfort.
It sleeps next to me,
wraps itself around me,
pulls me close.
Kisses me when only crickets see.

I wake up next to comfort,
I rest on its chest as sleep starts to fade.
Comfort is mine,
and I am comfort's.
I do not fear its loss.

Then why does the beast within me
yearn to break free?

What love pulls me?
What do I truly want?