Love Dream

Love Dream by Daniel Benisty

Love Dream. To achieve and nurture one true love.

Because of late i have felt nothing outwardly,

I conceal inwardly tempests of warmth,

Love overflowing like the great Python cascades,

Affection and sensuality delirious with intent greener than the Orenoko,

Unfolding as a great archaeological endeavour clearing its throat, speaking.

I will love.

And despite these wordy vessels, I long to be emptied,

I extract all this pain and pleasure and all this light and obscurity

And in doing so, blunt the sharpness of my tongue,

Cut the height of my grandeur and dull the sparkle of my song.

Though I mean to be emptied, I mean to be drawn from still,

And be like a deep pool that never dries.

In so doing, in so emptying,

I will easily spend the force of words,

Yet still keep what is in my heart.

The dream of a wondrous love.

And I wish I could continually empty, continually draw from stock,

But as this simple valleying spirit of mine dies down, dries and empties,

It is just the mysterious female that grows new kings and queens

And her vessel is red and warm only in the comfort of a perfected land.

Despite this, I maintain selfless destiny.

One that seeks to reason with all manner of soul

To alleviate the divides that are placed between the spirits of the eternal wanderers:

The jew, the gypsy, the dreamer, the giant sprawling human,

Living as a bridge between races,

Between languages, between festivities, between cultures.

Though in achieving this selflessness, I surely achieve my own selfish aims,

Flawlessly and effortlessly.

All except the original calling of bewildering love,

Divine in her wisdom and resplendent in her velvet couch of peach brown skin.

So I must choose.

Be like fire who acts tactlessly, reaching out and sucking substance to cinder,

Raging through hearts and minds and lashing out at figurines of fuel,

Indiscriminate as the wind, marching out of solitude into the populous night,

The promiscuous night.

Or be like water, a deep maze of cultivation, a sweet grounding of everything (settled),

A passive seat of mist and steam haze,

Lying in wait for all fish and ships to sail over, through or under,

Leaving the beautiful anchors of dead dog oblivion

To be recaptured through the fossils in great good measure of Old Father Time.

Or choose a third element.

Before I do, be mindful of the need to temper. The need to balance.