Mortal Saviour

Texture of Sand by Sura Nualpradid courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net

Texture of Sand by Sura Nualpradid courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

In my rush to find you
Are you standing right before me?
Will your energies yield to mine when we meet?
Will the depth of your eyes melt my armour?
Your gaze transcend our surroundings?
Lifting me from this desolate space
where day moulds to day
and the lists grow longer
Responsibilities suffocating
Aspirations contracting
Guilt and selfishness consuming
Where are you, my love?

(Written in 2012)
© mypastmademe.com 2014

Ponderings

I am in reflective mode, having come across some poems written in 2012 … the constant theme of searching, such as has appeared in so many of my poems. It is strange to think that I spent so many of my years searching, as far back as I can remember, yet now I find myself at peace. It is more of an effort now not to close the door and I have to remind myself to be available to let love in …

As a teenager, those inevitable moments when puberty has us lost in our own darkness, struggling to fit in, fighting to be noticed and loved … a fight that so often results in a match with someone so unmatchable we are blind to it, I would always say to myself, “There’s a boy for every girl and a girl for every boy.” So as an adult I realise the truth is that love binds a mish-mash of people together – boys to girls, girls to boys, boys to boys, girls to girls etc – but love itself, that indefinable something that electrifies us to another person, is still so elusive for those who go looking for it. I think, if I’m completely honest, looking back, I was still searching in my head even when I believed I was happy. A happiness that was vapid really, built on sand because I chose to turn a blind eye to so many things … but all that matters not now.

Here we are in this moment, these present minutes, and all that matters right this second is this screen and the tapping of my fingers, forming words to convey how I feel, filling this space in time with my thoughts. The realms I exist in now are so different to what I have ever known before. Yes, I miss the feel of another’s lips on mine, the brush of a hand across my face, the warmth emanating from another soul towards me and offering intimacy, someone who basks in who I am … but these thoughts are only fleeting reminders of physical elements which do not make up a whole, nor do they represent what I was ever really looking for.

I don’t know if I should feel sad that I am no longer searching; should I grieve for a habit, a belief, which saw me through the bad times? No … I inwardly rejoice that my inner peace broke the chains and now I exist to live, to bring happiness to those around me, to do my best, to try to achieve my dreams … and it is strange that in all the things I think of I am no longer adding on this silhouette of a man, the faceless soulmate, to stand alongside me. It is only now that I realise no-one could ever love me more than I love myself; it is a mistake I made for so long. To know our own self-worth – to expect and accept the best of someone – can only happen if we love ourselves to start with. And I love myself enough to stop looking … to bask in this moment, to absorb everything around me and try to exude happiness and bring it out in others. This is my service. This is what fills me with love and makes me happy.

And that faceless man … the long-ago harboured dream … he will recognise me, if that is what’s meant to be, and I will recognise him. But in the meantime I will wedge the door open, tempted so much as I am to shut it completely, and continue on the path I’m on. For this contentedness is so special … and life is far too precious to be wasted on searching for something that might never be. I love myself enough … to be enough.

All is well. May happiness find you and contentedness envelop you. Search only for yourself, not someone else. x

Misplaced emotions …

3d Man And Question Mark by Master isolated images/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

I have spent the last hour looking for my poetry book … my little book in which I scribe all my thoughts, my poems, my most private wonders.  It was placed next to me last night while I typed ‘A  New Star Is Born’ … after that, I have no idea.  I can’t remember.  Logic says, of course, that it’s here somewhere!  I know I didn’t take it out, so it’s got to be around … it will turn up tomorrow surely.

Except that tomorrow isn’t good enough.  Like Verruca Salt (surely the most brilliantly named fictitious character of all time), I want it NOW!!  I even had a little cry … a release of desperation since I’ve looked everywhere it could be to no avail.  How amazing really that such an innocent-looking, inanimate object can evoke such emotion at the fact that it’s missing.

So tonight, no poem … I mean, yes, obviously I could scribble something out on a loose piece of paper, but it wouldn’t be the same, and anyway my mind is now solely consumed by the knowledge that I am lacking the knowledge of knowing where my book is!!!  *sigh*  Hopefully tomorrow I will write something about the gratitude of finding something so precious …

Have a lovely evening 🙂  Wish me luck with my search!