I see you

Every single time
For weeks
It does not seem possible
I do not understand
Every single time.
How could it be
Every single time I see you
You are more beautiful than the last.

How could it be?

I am a hollowed out corpse of hope
Potential gone stale
Promise wilted over
A dream deferred–
and yes my heart is sick.

And in this helpless powerless condition
This is where I am captivated
This is where I am captured
This is where I see you
From this point
Down in the dirt
In the mud and blood
With sweat and tears and spittle
I see you

And you are beautiful.

And I
with no castle
and on my last leg
my breath drawing shallow
now I see you.

I could not miss you in the fog
I could not miss you in the rain
I could not miss you in the crowd
You shine like some vision of what we imagine angels to be
I see you.

And every time
every single time
even as I lay dying
every time you are somehow
more beautiful than the last.

I did not see you when I was strong
I did not meet you when I was well
I cannot even speak the dream
and fear it will become a hell.


14 thoughts on “I see you

    1. That is fantastic. Thank you for telling me. I love when I relate to any writer (although I am partial to poets, of course) and I often wish I could say something… and so when someone takes the time to say something to me I really appreciate it.

    1. For with the existence of a God who somehow commands not just obedience but love and seems to be serious about it this is not surprising. With such religion the cultural language can become confusing. I myself always hope for at least two meanings when I write something cryptic.

      I am often intrigued at how people interpret my poetry anyways (as it is often completely different from my intention as an author). Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised at other’s interpretations of my own work, sometimes I am not.

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