Voice 2 Remember,
the danger to the questionner
excites the student to despair
and no one speaks to me as I to you.
You just enter by fearfulness, alone,
a mesmerizing force
with a gorging tongue, of course,
glibly chirping at sensation.
You forget the appetite of horror
embraced in sadistic exercises, or far worse,
and our repeated warnings.
How could they do such a thing?
Those words ring in my ears like hammers of boredom
on the swinging door of survivals routine.
Voice 1 It is easy to say had we taken more care,
with the first step on the stair,
we could have had hereafter everywhere.
I have not said with what mortal pride
you guage resolve, yet fling it to the wind.
No! Nor how all natures worth,
whose unfolding plan you know
within a searing frame is sacred held.
Yet you dare dismiss the ever constant flow
of lifes unfolding multitude of beckoning signs
ordained to be obeyed,
before ignoring plaintive pleas
to share with others
a widening spectrum of delight in living,
as vital to the soul as air is to the human frame.
Neither do I chide you
because you fail to cherish your own self
believing this is vain.
You adopt a sacrificial stance of rigid thought
rather cutting to the grain,
holding it wrong to retain self-regard.
Is that a vanity,
a doubtful a currency as unfelt courtesy,
or would you have woven active charm
amid attractive postures and becoming manners
to endorse the truth of being?
Intelligence taught you
that what you saw was not what it appeared to be,
and how the motivating movements
house reasons very different.
I understand that sheer material power
caused uninvolvement by you hour by hour
erasing answers already in your mind
asking yourself, if lone diety could find
the reason why you were to blame.
pause
Laced to the truth, with vanity outgrown
all lasting values can be found
and must be won without inflicting hurt.
If the individual subservience of intelligence
is compelled to compromise
then so too are those limits we put on life
less than the truth.
Few know the difference of the game
yet speak not, but they're not to blame.
Voice 2 Fine words. But even the finest words
are used as instruments of the vilest deeds.
They are the only way we speak
to those we never meet,
that we, in compassion, might console.
Why! If I could play music
to pass the seconds left with you
more meaning twixt us might accrue.
How well you know no childhood dream has flowered for me,
yet you discard my plea,
ignore my self-confessed fragility
knowing full well, not one God-like dream
of childhood days has spermed.
Are you glad for this submission?
Do your find words meet my immediate condition?
Voice 1 I seek to hurt no illusion,
or fragile truth unproven,
nor shake it, unless in its doubtful premise
I could ensure a finer structure
to sustain youth into wisdom.
Consider this option, drink in the prospect,
tell me you opt for the sight of arrival.
Voice 2 Curse those fine words.
Look, look, she is there again to-day..
those eyes across the way.
She returns the same desires.
Voice 1 The needs are different though.
What does it matter what the chauvinistic chorus say
about this well felt womans wanton gait?...
Beware. Chase not anothers ....harlot?
Home?.... .Whore meister? ...in thought alone?
Those trembling knees have already doused
the harlots heated frame,...Liar,
ungrateful fool well spliced..
this flame burns from too far differing ends.
Both have the need..
but only she the goal.
The flame she lights in you,
you may not always quench. What then?
Voice 2 Such loyalty is not the demands of a hungry whore,
only to tease perhaps.
This altar near and dear is sacred held.
How many times has that been said before,
yet how many succumbed?
Would I had the strength to overcome my garbage eye
dwelling in the stolen ravenous sense of feel.
Voice 1 This is like the growing soul
speaking within the heated frame.
Now, like the seeing hare which backward need not look
turn not your head
behind those moving curtains is someone watching you.
Voice 2 He looses with dignity,
he wilts with pain this long while.
He will still need her when her heat is gone,
such are the odds he looses by.
Voice 1 Be grateful then for what you hold,
you covetous swine.
Believe the pain will go to-night.
Pig.......or priggish provincial.
Voice 2 I'll settle for a pig.
I am no servant of a wayward dame,
who pretends a shocked disdain.
Must I continue to hide behind
such well-worn facades
that do not reach for shooting stars.
Voice 1 Romantic fool.
Voice 2 I have no sleepless moons by night.
Voice 1 Swear to dwell within this earthly goal.
Voice 2 Baiting these passions of ten thousand years?
Hypocrite!
Voice 1 Well, concerning the sexual energy,
this truth is safer dressed in illusion.
Beneath such endowed charms lie unearthly talent
consumed in passions sigh,
which, blessed within the throes of pleasures pain,
those talents lost, reincarnate again.
Therefore adorn, adhere, ever conceive
a heart, which rules the heads of men, believe,
and let the fools the space to stars devise,
while you give grace, posture, shining eyes.
So comely well, hemmed in such vibrant room,
seek no escape as vassal of the womb.
Voice 2 Before infancys flower bloomed in language
I knew thee well.
It told me of the boundaries of love.
It was a lie, only part of the truth,
the other part was you and I.
I was no better or no worse than they.
I accepted it as a game to play
and in its lack of fulfillment, found,
there was no lasting ground, on which to stay.
The pathos of my own known hurts will tell
the pain delivered in the name of love
so easily and well.
Was it housed in sensations climatic desire
ejecting intellect for the sensuous burn of fire?
In loves wider spectrum, I do beseech,
love in its fulness is not learnt
from those who teach.
Its in the deed alone
that it can be taught,
its ever widening reaches can be sought
with universal and infinite support.
Voice 1 Think! A thorn sears no rose,
receives no second glance.
What holds together the universe by chance
and stays mans sun sinned hand?
How glad I am you have not smiled.
Swear to wield a hand in fate,
and cease to dwell on wounds
that life has thrust on you.
Now, with reality participate,
the past must cease to blind the present.
Absorb defeat with the same strength
you contest classified success.
Voice 2 My family roots are with me day by day
whose roughened edges lifetimes I must pay.
Voice 1 I start to know your greatest need;
in each intent to act,
new strength is born.
The thirsting innards will survive
the curbed fire of youth,
which is both wrack and balm
though with relief still burns.
Nothing will transcend that time
for I shall wear each precious moment
like a garland on a growing soul...
So help me... any interested diety..
any considerate big brother ....
unpleasant dictator ...Ah men.
Voice 2 I sleep no hearer home
than the stones that Jacob slept upon
when he was in an alien land,
though when I seek to make this feeling, fact
what I see shocks me to disbelief.
Desperations needs have brought me
near to agnosticism
and compressed circumstance
have marked both hands and brow by fate.
I alternate between irreverence
and the see-saw evidence
clearly conjectured, and through
these long years, experienced.
I see within it overall
the compassionate hand of creation,
pressing beyond self tranquilizing promise.
This delusion led to wishful thought,
before surrendering to quick forgetfulness,
for humanitys only possible survival
is to channel positive thought with love.
All this is in a world,
where soul confronts mis-use of power,
power that refused the right to be
to those who are,
and those as yet to be
it would seek control.
Voice 1 Remember, custodian of mankind,
prenatal and before
now in compressed circumstance, well caste
in environments of steel tempered moulds
if needs be I shall surrender,
when the load demands.
Voice 2 What else is there for man to do?
Voice 1 Time and again, the pillage frame, compelled,
surrenders a sad betrayal of passing passions
and the ravaging pendulum of time
takes its exacting toll.
To be wrecked on enlightened dunes of age
is to be blessed.
Thus awakening, man proclaims his worth
with toil coined from clay,
soils churned, blackened towers vomited
as industrial wrath belched heaven-ward.
Refuse not tokens of bewildered sires,
they know not what they have given.
Unworthy impulses, not prisoned in flight,
with thoughtless consequences
may change, flower transformed,
this frantic top-soil of mans scorched desert transit.
Of such worth are all eternal blooms,
therebefore, and thereafter,
the measured departure of imprisoned kings.
Dim Lights