Indescribable

Indescribable

By Brent Matthew Lillard

There comes a time when love is undesirable. Where you wish it was gone from you like the dream you know was untrue. Where there isn't that confusion of what is real and what isn't. Where you know what is and what could not be. Where the lust, temptation and infatuation is drained from you and all you wish for is the knowledge—No! All you wish is for that person to love you without recognition or disposition against your world. You couldn't care about their physical core or the touch of their needs or the meaning in the face before the eyes. Where all that matters is in the eyes. The transference of the energy in the hands and not the hips. The lips, whilst they matter no more, act as the conduit to somewhere unseen by the eyes.

But the earth no longer stands still and the adama reaches up beneath our feet to drag you down again and no matter how hard you cling to whatever you have left. There is that empty that will take more time than you are willing to give to refill. Like a death of the parent or friend when it was not meant to be, this empty shall heal slowly and you shall be struck with it's chain reaction.

So you're stuck with no one. They tell you have them, but they do not have you and that is why they can not satisfy the pain. A pain that does not quell from carnal satisfaction or ambiguous loving, but simply a lost. Not even a loss, but simple lost. Lost without a dream, a faith or a path.

That dream you dreamt that is no more and came like lies from the mouth of God, herself. The oracle can change nothing, though she tries and you listened. You fool, you bastard! You were foolish for ever believing that anyone, but you could see your fate. So you scream to the world and you scream the skies from not your mouth, but your mind at the God and you demand unto her that she lean down and she lean low to hear your mind's voice and answer your hearts cry.

You will question her, who you have no place, reason or rank to question and she will answer.

She will Answer.

She may not say, "Yes, my child."

She will tell you exactly what you need to hear and when you need to hear it.

And silence enters your soul with which you can not answer. No, you can not. All that breaks it is the bodily ringing in your ears and the white noise of the air. Ticking clocks clack slowly and you sit in your chair in mystery and misconception with never understood dismay. And why? Life is good for you. You are one of the lucky ones, yet you remain with energy and anger and no fight to release it upon.

Your guns are your hands upon the keys. Your sword is you tongue. Your shield is your mind.

There is no fight or battle, no war for the light that spans the ages or night.

No equation, no debate, no algorithm, no solution you can see.

So questions hang in the air, like smoke over fire, unanswered and none's to blame.

Questions that answer the prose or al the poems that we create endlessly.

Only silence and hope.

©2010 Brent Matthew Lillard

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