your hand warm

[qimissung]

What did you learn? I cry
but as I utter the words the wind
whips them from my mouth and
flings them with abandon
I offer you pearls of rare beauty
your hand warm upon them, you reach
for nerve endings that do not exist
I wipe your tears with my flesh but
I cannot wipe the sadness from your eyes
Yes, yes, you whisper in my ear but the
words do not reach the deepest recesses
the space behind the far beyond
how can you love beauty and kill it too?
What have I learned? I cry

[~Sophia~]

Oh Qim, this is amazing. If it were me, I would make just one tiny edit and then, submit it to every literary journal...


whips them from my mouth and
flings them with abandon

I would simply delete the "from me" part.

Great poem!!!

[qimissung]

Done and thank you ~Sophia~, actually, I added them after I wrote this. Hardly anything I add while revising do I end up keeping. You'd think I'd learn (:)).

[~Sophia~]

You'd think we would all learn my sweet. Edits can sometimes suck the soul out of the thing. It must be done with the most critical eye. I love your poem.

[PrinceMyshkin]

You'd think I'd learn (:)).

Which echoes the book-ended lines that open & close this marvellous poem, the accusations we fling at our former lovers and then the more bitter ones we address to ourselves. See the whole of Ecclesistes 1, especially these heart-rending final lines:


17 Then I applied myself to the understanding of wisdom, and
also of madness and folly, but I learned that this, too, is a chasing after the
wind.
18 For with much wisdom comes much sorrow;
the more knowledge, the more grief.

But there must be, there ought to be, some solace in turning the hurt into such fine, strong poetry!

[qimissung]

Thank you ~Sophia~ and Prince. I thought I had written something good, but I am quite honored by your words.

What a connection, Prince. So true, with more knowledge, more grief. Somehow we think of more knowledge as opening our world, but not to that. But then, when we open the door, we don't get to pick what's standing there, do we?

[mazHur]

nice!
the wounds of soul are difficult to heal!

[PrinceMyshkin]

So true, with more knowledge, more grief. Somehow we think of more knowledge as opening our world, but not to that. But then, when we open the door, we don't get to pick what's standing there, do we?

And yet, if it comes to a choice between opening that door and passing on by, which is the better (or the more irresistible) choice?

[qimissung]

nice!
the wounds of soul are difficult to heal!


Thank you mazHur. And yes, they are. But this is less about wounds than abut the things we have come to believe will connect us to others, only to find that, to our surprise and chagrin, that they haven't.


And yet, if it comes to a choice between opening that door and passing on by, which is the better (or the more irresistible) choice?

Ah, what a beautiful question!

[Lokasenna]

That's really quite something!

[blazeofglory]

What did you learn? I cry
but as I utter the words the wind
whips them from my mouth and
flings them with abandon
I offer you pearls of rare beauty
your hand warm upon them, you reach
for nerve endings that do not exist
I wipe your tears with my flesh but
I cannot wipe the sadness from your eyes
Yes, yes, you whisper in my ear but the
words do not reach the deepest recesses
the space behind the far beyond
how can you love beauty and kill it too?
What have I learned? I cry

The problem with love is that it can not reach the deepest of heart. And if it cannot it becomes shallowly phony.

[firefangled]

This reads like it comes from that space you note, almost beyond reach. Thanks for reaching far.

I loved this line "...how can you love beauty and kill it too?"