a conversation gone awry

you are precise

like the knife you hold in your hands 

peeling off the apple skin 

your words are 

like pebbles dropped in the silent stream 

clearly showing the way

they drive their point home..

i am lost..

i am dragging  a fishnet 

holding a roaring dragon from

those deepest seas you chose not to sail..

so i must fail..

dreaming santiago's lions in my disturbed sleep..

what do we have in common

to speak about..

our conversation 

is a mystic river that never 

obeyed the theories of proportion..

when my words came down like summer rain,

you stood there in your mackintosh 

smiling at me with deceit,

interpreted as honesty..

then we wore our shields of cast lead

viewing with suspicion 

our professed intentions..

and finally all that was left was

a memory of empty words

that ran long ago in the sandy bed 

of the mystic river..

and i must lose 

for trying to play your game...

and for that travesty , 

i must reap in those fields of 

unnown silence,

the bitter fruits of my solitude.. 

p.s.

i thank hemingway for santiago's lions...

and as always, marquez , who has taught me to interpret solitude

Reviews

[.]

. indeed ... excruciating ... but incredibly beautiful ... you're a remarkable poet, dear V. ... you have a very intricate understanding of emotions ...

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Ah, what a sad, poignant and beautiful poem...isn't it strange how so much conversation can take place with no communication at all...or else only the exchange or practice of deceit on one side or the other, the cynicism not taken into account of past wounds or emotional scars on the part of one or both parties? Your writing is wonderful as always!