Gray and frozen, frozen and gray, we dance round each other. The indecent and silent pavanne of wraiths who must gain what sensuality they can from peeping through bedroom windows, from sucking the blood of somebody else’s life.
Why can’t we say what we mean? Why do we shrivel at one another’s touch? Why do we paint our faces and comb our hairs? To make paper dragons out of ourselves? Insubstantial images, weaving in and out of the frigid carnival.
There was a man once, and he knew how to party. Six, but six bloody thirty gallon jars of wine; velvet on your lips, delight of fiery sweet potency sliding round your mouth…He made it out of water! (*hic!*…pardon me…). Out of water! Water mixed with the power of God! Oh, mix that power with our water! Give us your fiery, sweet, potency, power of God!
It’s not that we don’t need something more than this. We come looking, circling each other, with our ghostly smiles, our hollow social laughter, our vapid gestures.
Oh, God… Oh, God. Can you save us even from whistling in the dark? Can you rescue us from the sad motley of our songs and smiles, our ragged courage and the decking out of our broken hearts?
This one, whose hand trembles, whose face is bent to hide his tears, concentrating on the flimsy shelter of lighting a cigarette… Or this one, who declaims from the pulpit, urgent and intent, with an answer to all the world’s aches yet no salve for his own… Or this one, immaculately dressed in a careful smile and high-heeled shoes, slimmed to perfection, colored in and cut out and propped on show…
Have you anything to save us from this? Is there any means by which we can step down from our pretence, and overcoming our revulsion and fear, win through to tenderness?
I know that I am done now with the masquerade, and I stand awkward and lonely. Naked and ashamed. I have stretched out a timid hand, and I am waiting. A slap in the face? Cold indifference? Embarrassment? I dare not hope what I yearn for: an honest hand grasping mine, eyes meeting eyes, acceptance, integrity… Should I hope for it? You naked and lonely, they crucified. If I too should be broken on that cross, and find in such distress your fellowship, I would have a hundred times satisfaction for the anguish of my heart’s hunger…
———–>be nice, this is my first piece.