mirage

The Melan Desert belongs to me
My breath of sorrow cascaded into a torrent of suffering
Whisked me away
By crumbling the hopeful towers around me
Razing them to dunes of despair
The winds carry their broken messages
For succor, at first
Now, forlorn
The abandoning sun treats my land as Abaddon
Thus I walk my land under waxen phases
Eternally, it desires
…if only I kept my eyes from the stars

My world is still
I am held to the sand solely by my mind
Heavy with disappointment
The only change comes from the moody moon
So the peculiarity of the stars
Has gained my rapt attention
They seem to form a path
Maybe a road
Perhaps a boulevard
Whichever, it leads away
The farthest from where I am
The Destin Sky belongs to me

Despite the lack of sunlight
And its insufferable heat
The Melan Desert still sees fit
To gift me with… visions
Dreams for my starved, woken mind
mirages
Two, they always are
But they waltz in endless time
Infinite regresses

One feels more tender
Seems more true
Of snapdragons
I want to go to them and am forced to my darkest despair
My bleakest “conclusions”
When I cannot get to them
And am left to my mindful toxicities
I can just as easily imagine a life with or without the flora
Maybe too well
In my ataraxia, I see signs that mock me
Pointing to and from the snapdragons
The handwriting is familiar
Because I am the only one here
I leap to both signs, left foot first
These snapdragon dreams come on their time
Maddening because I am impatient
Maddening because I am not ready
The natural lie of mirages
Is their nonexistance
But the Destin Sky leaves messages on the wind
“…should be…”
And the will to power manifests the impossible
But the Melan Desert never forgets
And shows me woeful carvings on pristine mirrors
The handwriting is familiar

The other mirage has the yearning of a child
Naïve
Hungry
Of lilies
Luminous below the crescent
Representing an ideal
Instead of a truth
The obsession of someone too lost in themself
Lilies are meant to be admired
Not to be adored
The path may lead to lilies incarnate
But they will refuse childish wants
The Destin Sky leaves messages on the wind
“…could be…”
The Melan Desert grins

Still I follow the path
Still the mirages dance around me
But each step takes a weight from my mind
The path begins to show its true self
And admits its destination
Soon, I walk a stellar boulevard
To the Renai Oasis that will belong to me
Perhaps with tenderness
My mind will be weightless
But my world will spin again
And the abandoning sun will express its regret

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4 Responses to “mirage”

  1. I had to read this 3 times. I love the imagery, the power of your lyrics. I understand exactly where you were when you wrote this – as I think most writers do. I finally feel I am in your last stanza, the weight starting to dissipate as I find my way to where I should have been all along. If only I didn’t allow my mind to be the one thing grounding me to this earth, or as you so eloquently put it, “I am held to the sand solely by my mind,” I would have known my rightful place all along.

    As always, thank you so much for sharing. Sorry I’m late coming back and commenting. I can’t wait to read what you post next.

    • I’m glad that you enjoyed the poem, and that you were able to find something in it that fit into your life. I am curious about your thoughts on where you felt that I was when I wrote it. Thanks to the Matrix series, I’m a sucker for others’ interpretations on a piece of art. Particularly after I showed a friend a poem that I thought I was absurdly clear in my intention, yet he had a completely different reading of it.

      • I can’t lie, I’m hesitant to respond to your request, though it is intriguing to wonder of one’s interpretation of your work. Oh well… here goes: I read it from a place of almost darkness where you want to find the mirage that always seems just out of reach – that magical place that all artists/writers/masters believe exists – that place where you can be both tortured and happy – both productive in your writing and fulfilled. That place that I’m not sure exists for most of us. To write and create is suffering – is it not? Is that not what makes for the most moving, touching, wonderful pieces?

        But even beyond that, even if we know the mirage is just an illusion, we still have to believe we can achieve it and know that the only thing holding us back is, well, ourselves. For isn’t that always the case?

      • That’s interesting. You’re right in that it came from a dark place, but the road I took is different than the road you took. Which is perfectly fine. I don’t believe that the creator’s intention is dogma, and any interpretation is valid. I draw the line when someone tries to speak for the creator (“they mean” instead of “I feel”). Blah, blah, psychic shield, blah. But seriously, I enjoyed your thoughts on the poem.

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