Marriage A-La-Mode

Why should a foolish marriage vow,
Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now
When passion is decay’d?
We lov’d, and we lov’d, as long as we could,
Till our love was lov’d out in us both:
But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure is fled:
‘Twas pleasure first made it an oath.

If I have pleasures for a friend,
And farther love in store,
What wrong has he whose joys did end,
And who could give no more?
‘Tis a madness that he should be jealous of me,
Or that I should bar him of another:
For all we can gain is to give our selves pain,
When neither can hinder the other.

John Dryden
(Courtesy of poemhunter.com)

Please, remember me,
as the one who shred you apart,
guilty of always knowing where to start,
but never having the courage to shut it down,
when the gloves came off and we were swinging wildly.

Remember me,
for every failure I endured,
and grew stronger because I went through it,
instead of giving up or just turning around and leaving.

Remember me,
as the person who held your heart in my hand,
unwilling to let anybody else near enough to touch it,
and sentencing them to the death of my friendship if they strayed too close.

Remember me,
as the person who would never let you down,
the guiding light in the lives of those who dared to let me in,
and never successfully threw me out in the cold or betrayed me.

Don’t remember me,
as a hero or saint,
because I’m not,
and that’s fake,
not the way I’m living,
or want to live,
all I have is myself to give,
and I don’t need you to help me,
walk this line,
I’ve been fine,
and doing better,
since I walked away,
into that dark room,
the black lagoon,
where my dreams and hopes,
all died within myself;
was reborn then,
feel to scrawl my own design,
of what life should be like,
with or without you,
slammed by the pain of doubt too,
and I rage against it,
dark as night in my heart,
coughing up blood praying for a fresh start,
away from the ghosts and demons,
who dance inside my head,
and tie me down to my bed,
in the best and worst moments,
that blend together in an odd way,
and resurrects my fallen days,
just in time so I don’t have to end,
at least not today,
or in the near future.

I rose up from ashes too many times,
but don’t remember me for my pain,
or the way I cried alone some nights,
afraid to break out and try living.

Remember me,
for the way I am,
and the things I never compromised on,
the good and the bad,
because I’m the light and dark,
smeared together in a way that plays with your eyes,
and makes you wonder which side dominates,
and in truth they both dominate,
they just fluctuate on the timing.

There are many sides to a story,
and many sides to a person,
we’re not just the sum of our parts either.

Sometimes we’re a complicated mess,
a virgin’s desire for you to undress,
a sun-ray reflecting off the moon,
giving it the most gorgeous glow,
guiding you on your lonely walk at night,
where darkness converges to creep into your skull,
and something stirs behind you,
just out of eye-sight.

You know it’s there,
it is always there,
but you have to keep moving,
don’t let it get you now,
you’ve gone too far to fall down,
or be taken over by another.

Stand free,
and stand strong,
at least as strong as you can stand,
when the world is full of fake people,
and over-populated with idiots and liars.

We’re all idiots,
liars,
fakes,
depending on the day,
and on love or lack thereof.

The world should shake us off,
and be ridden of the fleas,
but it’s too mild-mannered,
only killing a few of us now and then,
and usually instantly,
even though we may deserve to suffer,
for all of our failures and sins.

Life tilts over,
the biggest effort is required to straighten it out again,
and the breathing continues,
although the sanity is gone;
maybe momentarily,
but probably forever,
and we live like this,
crawling from gutter to gutter,
bed to bed,
nurturing nipple to nurturing nipple.

August 4, 2009