Lethal Meditation

This is a poem I wrote a long time ago, during a very dark time of my life.

His memory is comfort,
Yet it is torture.
To close my eyes and think of him
Is to sink into meditation.
To drift peacefully into a place,
A state of mind,
Where he still takes me by the hand,
Still leads me to the seclusion of darkness,
Takes me places I've never been,
Places no one else dared take me before,
Still takes me, just as I am,
As if I am something more than I am.
Something beautiful,

Something priceless,

Something rare,
And makes me feel as if I am.

To visit that state of mind
Is to invite the demons in.
Invite them to come and play.

The screaming,
The weeping,
The misery.
Inevitable, after my little journey
To that dangerous state of mind.
One might call me a fool
For allowing myself to visit such a place.
To think such thoughts.
To dream such dreams.
To endure the consequences of this journey.
Unbearable despair,
Unmerciful agony,
Unavoidable emptiness.
But oh, the pleasure!
It is pure ecstacy,
Pure addiction.
It soothes me.
It breaks me.
It defines me.
He defines me.
He is my lullaby.
He is my cyanide.
And like a shooting star,
Bright and majestic as it appears
Only for a moment,
Then disappearing into the black sky,
He disappears forever.
Never again will he take me
To those unimaginable places.
Never again will his heavenly kisses,

His poisonous kisses,
Make time freeze,

Where he and I are the only conscious beings.
Never again will he search the depths of my soul,
Finding every answer.
Coming to know me
More than I know myself.
Never again will his fingertips

Brus so gently against my cheek,

Sending chills throughout my entire body.
And suddenly everything comes crashing down
At this realization.
The realization of this addiction.
The realization that I live

In fantasy.
The realization that he is
Gone.
The realization that I love him
With every fibre of my being.
My world comes crashing down
At the realization of his absence.
My only recourse
Is to allow myself to meditate.
To visit that dangerous state of mind.
And there he is, in all his majesty.
Beautiful.
Priceless.
Rare.
The agony is sure to come.
Very soon now.
Yet I allow myself to sink back,
Into the fantasy world of my imagination.
Into my lethal meditation.

Read more:

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Love can seem like a damnable curse at times! It infiltrates every fiber of our being and then unwinds itself like a thread until we are left bedraggled. I can literally feel the caliginous clouds draped around the despair in your words. Know this ... you are the source of any love you feel. Any grief or despair comes from that river of love. If that love is denied, it will return to its source - you; and it will run again, beautiful and free as though a river in Paradise.

Linda Marie