The Closing of Your gate
by Steven Craig
Here,
I speak
as a dominant person should
convey the message,
not hidden,
not veiled,
not with sweets held forth
hiding the cold steel.
Never to use the false sirens call
to beckon,
only to show malice
and neglect for any turn
of your emotions.
Here,
even if only words,
I am indeed real,
multi-dimensional.
In that sense,
I,
unlike the coiled snake,
I stand clearly
in the bright light of day,
and I write
to you
as I would speak to you,
as I would act
with you,
as you would feel me do so.
You have many other choices.
You can take those 'normal' words
and live and be safe.
It is an easy,
effortless process
to stay where you have always been.
Having finally fled Stockholm,
even the prisoner always seeks
the most expedient return.
There is a mans motto,
long revered and honored...
"Deeds, not Words".
Words
are the tools of life,
the way that we convey
to others our wishes,
our desires...
Deeds,
are that strong arm,
that point of the spear
that makes it mark upon your life,
in ways not always understood,
and in ways not always looked for,
but always in ways
that are absolutely necessary
for the survival of the person.
The person
is not the body,
or the tender
and the course portions
of the corporeal entity,
the person
is not the reflected image
in the mirror
or the name called out
in the thick
of the crowd and applause
that so many seek with single minded determination.
The person,
is the mind.
The person,
is the thought of that mind.
The person,
is that power
that makes of the thought
an extension that creates
and controls the world
all about that person.
The mind,
it comprehends
what the person does so little realize,
and there is the point.
The mind
is the power
and the course
and the endeavor
and the realization
of the final curtain call.
Without the mind,
the body is just
so much excess baggage.
Nothing is ever clear
without first the question.
With the question
comes the note of the musical scale,
the breath of the measure,
the vision of the dream,
and the fulfillment of the soul.
For most,
a question seems only a folly,
a waste of the time and emotion to pose it.
But to a few,
to a man,
the question is absolutely necessary.
Every question is the birth
of the answer the person seeks,
and that answer
is always spoken with words,
expressed with deeds,
driven by emotions.
As your blood surges
from your heart to your mind,
and to your heart once more,
pose your question,
voice your answer,
and put to deed
the response of your soul
with all the energy
and determination of the will possessed.
But then,
these are the words
of a man that has marked a woman,
not just spun fantasies about it.
The marks on the body,
the pain felt to endure it,
were measured in ounces
when the tonnage of the mark
on a womans mind
is where life truly has its meaning.
There,
the marking and the fire
make their noted appeal,
to live if only barely
until that touch is made more intense
each day that follows.
That each day,
the need to live,
to feel the hand that holds her safety
there upon her flesh,
to greet his breath
with her own deep exhalations,
there is the place to know you are alive,
unburdened by the flaccid excesses of the day.
Be careful what you wish for,
or what you hide from.
It is not always pain
that inflicts such grievous hurt.
Far too often
it is the long belated understanding
of all that has been missed
in the closing of your gate.
Chose.
06/17/2008
