Lonely Willow Widow
By Ubiquitous
2/25/09
Where does it come from, that old fashioned idea of lost liquidity? I thought I knew what life was all about a million times, and now I know only one thing… that I know nothing. I wonder what the willow thinks setting in the rain waiting for day, waiting for me, and waiting for no one? I wonder why she waits at all, her long legs of slender silk. Is it her world or mine? Is it real or just imagined? I wonder if I would imagine it like this. There are those times when you’re dreaming awake, eyes closed or open and blind, when you know you’re dreaming, or you know you’re alive; those times when you try to control the dream with invisible hands, with thoughts so incomplete they are utterly and completely nonsensical. What happens when it ends; when you grab smoke and come away empty? Is that heaven lost; lost on a lonely highway in the desert of hope? They say you can’t take a boy out of the country. Why do I always go back to the desert? Is it because I was young when I saw evil that it is intermingled in my youthful thoughts? is it because I was only dreaming of the day when I lost control of the fear and splashed headlong in my most fond of desires?
I am, and have always been, a liar why would I expect age to change me? Or better yet, why would I allow it to happen, when I have found fear in my most humble of desires? As if fear is what I sought in all of my wandering intentions of false hope in disguise. I lost my self in the desert by a willow in the rain. Do you believe me? Do you care? Are you even here? Why?
I spoke poetry to my willow and rose up a sapling and they lash and bind me with all the fear I can handle and more. Some men run away. Some men cheat. Some men are cowards! I am a coward. Why should I stay?
Why not run away?
Why do I believe in my heart that you get what you give when I have only ever got what I have stolen with blood soaked hands wrapped in denial?
I am a thief who has gathered a horde and wants to live a better life, now that he can pay for it with his ill begotten loot. But there is no escape in to nothingness when you can’t look your self in the mirror; when you are staring at him everyday; but you know him less the more you stare. He never did those things I remember. He never hid; but he was there, all along, in my back pocket just waiting for the opportunity to strike.
I once was an old man in a young mans body. Now, I am just old. I’m getting older and grey and for what?
One day I’m gonna give up this fear. One day I’m gonna punch it in the face and walk right out of this body. That day is gonna hurt me, but is physical pain really all that bad in the end? Take your licks boy! Its only gonna hurt worse if you make me chase you!
Fuck you!
I’ll run you ‘till you’re so tired you can’t swing, you can’t grab, and you can’t cut. But the fear doesn’t have a body like that old tree in the desert, and I have only flesh to lose. I thought I knew something about life, but now I am willing to except the fact, that fact is an illusion, and illusion is the only thing we have left to hang on to. I tell him over and over, that fat man in the mirror, let go of the rope. Let go of the road. But the road is ever out there before me. I use to think I gazed into the past for wisdom. That maybe, just maybe, I could learn from my mistakes if I watched them all over. But mistakes are all you have, when you’re a mistake. I have been hungry, and lonely. I have been weak and afraid; and that was just today, setting lonely by a willow and her sapling, who only love me because I give reason for their shade, and therefore consider the possibility that allows them the illusion that they exist at all.
