Love Lifteth Me Not

❧

In Oaxaca
there is warmth
and fresh grown
coffee and chokolat
It's there I sot
my unromantic
sights,
to never
make a morning pot
from second-hand
grounds


Why I fixate on Oaxaca I guess I'll never know. I've never been there. I'll probably never go. The closest I ever came to being there is Mexico City. I wrote the verse above this morning in response to a woman I once thought I knew. As usual I inflated her true worth to something she couldn't live up to and she imploded.

It is painful to realize she only used me to get to this point she has been to many times. I became just another fool to blame it on. This transmigration of her soul allows her to implode in order to abandon all the illusion she created to be something she is not nor could be. It's too late now to be beautiful and slim and a front page suffragette for false causes.

Now, it seems, she is like the love interest in the Forrest Gump movie. But, with no child to find a father for before she pays the ultimate price for her intentional sins. There is no joy in Muddville. Love did not lift her up.

Love has never really lifted me up either. Either that or it has lifted me to unrealistic heights at which even a fool like me can't measure up to his own expectations. Love has not filled me with some sublime ardor that forced me to be dependable as a proper mate. Love has never lifted me up to unselfishness, and allowed me to put others before myself.

"but, love is the one thing
I can't give away.
I can give of my body,
and the wealth of my mind
for the one thing
you're seeking to find.
But, the thing
that you're seeking
ain't found in no
answer...
and the questions
you ask...
are just the time of the day.

I can only imagine not being ultimately selfish after all is said and done. It may have been some insane, childish goal of mine to live an impoverished life and to die a miserable, unenvied death that leaves a bad taste in my nemeses' mouths. No matter what lies I tell myself and others to the contrary.

Yet, despite my noblest intentions, I never actually follow through and concede the direction of my life to another person for long. I still let them think that such a feat is possible, but only to see where they would take it unimpeded. I've let many a person knowingly play me for the fool they'd be if they were me. They're not. Maybe that's all they really need from me. To discover with no uncertainty that I'm not who they make me into for their sake.

Sometime I imagine myself to be the oak tree the poet lashed the lunatic to in G.K.Chesterton's tour de force, The Poet And The Lunatic, in order to prove to him that he was not God.

http://www.amazon.com/Poet-Lunatics-G-K-Chesterton/dp/0755100204

For a while after I read this insightful story, I thought I was the poet that would save the world from lunatics like me. Now I know that's not my place. I am is the immovable, but perishable object that forces people who think they have nothing to reconsider.

❦