Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for mind
Broken (inappropriately lyrical)
Oh, I feel bro ken.
Though I know it isn’t true,
these words unspo ken
by others and by you
make me feel bro ken.
Hey, what am I to do
to fix this bro ken bo dy
……….bro ken mind and
….bro ken heart and
bro ken life…
Oh, I feel bro ken.
What am I to do?
Mary Elizabeth Schwartz
Mary Elizabeth Schwartz
You are joy and gay in the light of mine eyes, but not a light ethereal gaiety, instead, a weighty, serious levity with “Perky Bosoms.” I have never loved a woman with perky bosoms, and though it may seem silly and objectifying, I would love to know an uplifted, firm breast as it juts from your soft, white flesh, your smooth, supple body, all curves and pressed passion with which or into which I would throw myself, heaving and thrusting, until I lay with you, joined in the heart having been joined in the loins, the lips, the finger, the nape, the spine, the mind, the soul. Touch me. Let me touch you and make you mine forever, at least for the moment.
Old questions
A seldom-seen mist settled into my mindscape, obscuring nothing, yet dulling everything in sight. There is no mystery in this; nothing is masked by this fog. When I see blue sky, all else seems more intense and meaningful. Now that the brightness is gone, I see things merely as they are, though to say as much suggests that when these things are illuminated by that pervasive brightness that I see not merely what they are; I know this is false. The sun shines.
The problem with always living in the moment is that one gains no perspective on things. A person who sees the ups only when he or she is joyous and the downs only when he or she is dolorous may never understand the relationship of joy and heartache. We must find a balance between being in the here-and-now, and considering the past or planning for the future.
What am I? I am not this flesh, this pile of bones. If I were these things, I would not be able to step outside my body or ignore hunger and pain in moments of great joy or great fear, though a slap across my face often gets my attention.
I am not these thoughts, these scattered ideas. If I were them, I would not be able to rest in a place apart from them. Though when I sleep, I go with my dreams, or they go with me.
I trust that I will discover what I am through careful introspection, examination, or meditation, but I cannot be sure of this.
Perhaps I am that which asks the question, but if I am only that, what am I when I ask not? Do I cease to exist? Ho ho! No! Like a great riddle, I will only know I have the answer when I have it, and once I have it, I will know that I do, though I may stop asking the question before then.
