Thursday, 21 October 2010

Evening moon with tourettes…

Up on the hotel ledge I stand looking at the late evening moon as another piece of the world chips off and spins away never to be seen again. The rock I stand on no longer as solid as it turns to sand and tears beneath my feet. I watch it helplessly, the shrink, the implosion, the light upon the darkling sea, the loss and lost.

I know the words but I don’t want to say them. You know the words but you don’t want to hear them. But here are the words I don’t want to say and you don’t want to hear.

Who cares? It is only truth.

I wish I’d never, if only they’d, I can’t believe that, I’m lucky to have known, we might never, it shouldn’t be, you are the, it was such, we worked so, it was so, promise that you will keep in…

All these words – ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’ She said and not just the drink. And all the other things said from the heart, honest, meant, and true from each around the table - and seemingly so easily to empty like a bottle of wine. No more jokes.

Fuck.

Time is a great healer. Time is a grand prover. It will take time for wounds to heal, same time for wounds to fester, poison, kill. The moon shines on as it always has and always will, dim parody of the beauty of the sun; but beautiful still the same.

And who know which words will be spoken next?

I love you?

Fuck.

13 comments:

  1. One of the most moving things I have ever read.
    What makes us feel weak will only make us stronger.
    Time.
    Fuck.

    ReplyDelete
  2. We have the capacity to heal ourselves & help to heal others. We must not allow wounds to fester. See you Monday.

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  3. One day the sun's glory will be gone. As with all things that brightly burn his fire will go out. The moon, lady of reflected glory, will watch cold and unmoving as he becomes the parody of the silent creature she has always been.

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  4. Philip Morgan commented on Facebook:

    Sublime. Wonderful words...nuff said.

    ReplyDelete
  5. no idea what you are going on about but I like to photograph even though the wors are a bit strange. I expecxt that they mean something to someone.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Steve Bishop commented on Facebook:

    Steve wrote
    "Excellent blog mate..... I think the profanities add to the feeling."

    ReplyDelete
  7. Nixon said 'only if you have been in the deepest valley,can you know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain'.
    How true.
    We all experience both in our lifetimes.
    I hope soon you are standing on the highest mountain,my friend, because you deserve to.

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  8. Alan Spence e-mailed:

    The darkling sea indeed. They do say that the sun will always shine on those who pray no matter how dark the moment. I can honestly say that when I looked up through the deep waters of the river flowing above me, I could clearly see the sun shinning down on me through the water. And although my predicament was perilous to the extreme, in the back of my mind I knew it was not the time or indeed the place to leave this mortal coil or say warm farewells.

    Alan

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  9. Another friend texted:

    An excellent blog. I tried to write a comment several times, but couldn't find appropriate words.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Neil Fishwick e-mailed:

    Thanks - beautiful words.

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  11. The Darkling Thrush

    I leant upon a coppice gate
    When Frost was spectre-grey,
    And Winter's dregs made desolate
    The weakening eye of day.
    The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
    Like strings of broken lyres,
    And all mankind that haunted nigh
    Had sought their household fires.

    The land's sharp features seemed to be
    The Century's corpse outleant,
    His crypt the cloudy canopy,
    The wind his death-lament.
    The ancient pulse of germ and birth
    Was shrunken hard and dry,
    And every spirit upon earth
    Seemed fervourless as I.

    At once a voice arose among
    The bleak twigs overhead
    In a full-hearted evensong
    Of joy illimited;
    An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small,
    In blast-beruffled plume,
    Had chosen thus to fling his soul
    Upon the growing gloom.

    So little cause for carolings
    Of such ecstatic sound
    Was written on terrestrial things
    Afar or nigh around,
    That I could think there trembled through
    His happy good-night air
    Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
    And I was unaware.

    ReplyDelete