Crimson Trigger
Bluelighter
Hello everyone: I haven't posted in this forum before, but I want to post a poem of mine that I think some BL'ers might like. Iy was originally three separate poems written during a time when I was struggling with opiate withdrawal, and periodically trying to clean up and then relapsing. After finding them in a notebook a couple months ago, I realized they were actually quite good, and saw an interesting relationship between them. I decided to put them together, and the finished product flowed smoothly as if it were always written as one poem. I hope everyone likes them, and I'd love to hear comments and interpretations if anyone has any.
A Dream of Life and Death
I cannot sleep - the dreams of my soul keep me awake.
They are hidden from me by day when the world is awake,
but at night they take on a whole new meaning
in the deep shadows of my den, faintly illuminated
by the dry, blue light of the cold city streets,
refracted through red checkered curtains
which do nothing to warm its icy hue.
Perhaps these impressions of urban twilight
work on my closed eyes to inspire vivid visions
as cold and heartless as the light from the streets.
I see myself back on those same streets in a new age,
and things have changed - the deep smell of decay
betrays the facade of life on the surface.
The faces of dead ancestors pop in for a scream,
and I travel through the troubled avenues now
changed by unknown calamity. I walk alone
through the vaguely familiar routes of my youth,
and descend to the underground;
There a man sits in silence, motionless in the moving train:
"You look like so many reclining Buddhas
seated there with your eyes closed,
hands cupped just above the waist.
The noise of the underground does not reach you,
the motion of the train does not stir you
as we race towards the other end of town
today; tomorrow, the other end of life.
Suffering does not trouble the sound sleeper
without dreams. In silence and darkness
we may find peace when the candle is put out."
I say this to the man, but he does not listen.
I look into his face and see that it is me.
You called to me from the edge of a dream
and I listened while you whispered my fate
into the wind, but only heard part of what you said.
I dreamt again about the grey day today,
about the grey pavement of day,
and the danger during the blue-yellow night.
I woke up during an ominous storm,
and the snow was not white, but grey
reflecting grey in different shades;
I gulped 6 pills, ran back to bed.
CT
A Dream of Life and Death
I cannot sleep - the dreams of my soul keep me awake.
They are hidden from me by day when the world is awake,
but at night they take on a whole new meaning
in the deep shadows of my den, faintly illuminated
by the dry, blue light of the cold city streets,
refracted through red checkered curtains
which do nothing to warm its icy hue.
Perhaps these impressions of urban twilight
work on my closed eyes to inspire vivid visions
as cold and heartless as the light from the streets.
I see myself back on those same streets in a new age,
and things have changed - the deep smell of decay
betrays the facade of life on the surface.
The faces of dead ancestors pop in for a scream,
and I travel through the troubled avenues now
changed by unknown calamity. I walk alone
through the vaguely familiar routes of my youth,
and descend to the underground;
There a man sits in silence, motionless in the moving train:
"You look like so many reclining Buddhas
seated there with your eyes closed,
hands cupped just above the waist.
The noise of the underground does not reach you,
the motion of the train does not stir you
as we race towards the other end of town
today; tomorrow, the other end of life.
Suffering does not trouble the sound sleeper
without dreams. In silence and darkness
we may find peace when the candle is put out."
I say this to the man, but he does not listen.
I look into his face and see that it is me.
You called to me from the edge of a dream
and I listened while you whispered my fate
into the wind, but only heard part of what you said.
I dreamt again about the grey day today,
about the grey pavement of day,
and the danger during the blue-yellow night.
I woke up during an ominous storm,
and the snow was not white, but grey
reflecting grey in different shades;
I gulped 6 pills, ran back to bed.
CT
