Human love. Of all matters that are human, The substance of living is love. Is it in residence? Not too sure? Then look into your heart. If you find someone, Someone special Who is not you, You are alive, because you have love. This is the hidden figure of life. It is not in X or Y, It is to the power of two. It is within your shell, Inhabiting At the source of the mind. The source of you. ©️2019-20 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved.
Finding which way to go,
I once was a man
Who, whilst stepping on some stairs,
Was taken up in my life, yet,
Was forever climbing down to death.
As a sphincter of a man
Watching through my blind muscle,
And peeping as I went
I found which way to go,
Yet gained no advantage.
In a life dogged by fairness.
Bleeding on the traits of Columbus
I ranged on his flat waves.
And, posed as one among stars,
When looking into the eyes of Eve.
Always I tried to live like I had a map of love.
And was a herald of gentle breath,
Even as I defended my course to death.
I searched and discovered
All along I had no breadth.
© 2014-2019 Christopher Thompson.
It is an open contest
This life of love,
In which we are all contenders.
We have been in training for this.
Yet in a sense we are all cheated.
Never to be content.
If life is meant to be manoeuvres
In a dark square ring,
Then we are truly contestants of the heart.
We are all vulnerabilities too
We seek to give, yet are
All too often taken.
Love is a circle of truth,
With dark corners
Is not of a Wet Brain.
For neither the bottle
Nor the Bar Stool
Any longer compel me.
I am too, a while since,
Scorched dry of my images’ slake.
And being now trifled properly;
I abide these days steady
And without a drunkards’ penny.
Yes, I do indeed have a lake.
A lake that is filled with words.
And these words, like water
Are Duel, they are entwined,
Having two intents.
They take life; they give death.
Acting on some
Like it’s their final breath and Rattle.
Their last gasped chance.
Defiant of the Doom bot.,
Whose habits lie beyond being ghostly,
Whose death is intellectually Final.
Whose words spread forth their danger;
Are soft on the tongue, like a whispers nurse.
And in others vice versa;
Acting like birth pangs or stones,
These other words
Wherein, and across the vast expanse
Of a life time,
Within and throughout which
Many minds may timely,
Earth and quake.
There threads a temporal sense,
Of all being well, so all is well,
In echo of, a given,
A simple understanding;
Even a comfort.
A slither of contentment.
Against which to blither with rapid fire,
Some words to seek to explain;
Some words to redefine not blame.
Some effort in works to try to inflame.
And these dice-like rhyming triplets,
Once tossed, having hung at their pinnacle,
Descend to a chancers phase.
Then dance, spilt to a halt, are still now and revealing,
Yet, uninterrupted are requiring to be read.
Words for which I am to be fined,
In my case, for being that, of questionable character.
A clumsy life, lived with a quartered deck.
A harvest shuffle and my most singular curse.
A writer with a cloak of verse.
© 2018 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved
In Anamnesis. This Time (Will Never Leave You).
If the first thought was of love
The second must be of obsession.
There is no getting rid of these feelings
Liking or loving or contentment,
Neither is harmful,
You are not alone,
Or are you?
Love needs to be reciprocal.
You are living your feelings
So you are definite.
And the eyes have it to the right.
Now where is your head,
Where are your heels?
Submerged, you may forget to breathe.
Do not panic.
It’s just like palpitations.
Then there is the force,
Or rather the drive to consider.
You need to talk.
Don’t begin at the beginning
You will be a bore.
Just be like it is,
Countenance is measurable
Just be real.
Do not burst open,
Just blow your flame gently.
Rise up, but also know your limit.
If falling over your words
You are like a Prince, and charming.
Do not grip your heart
In a steel gloved hand,
Rather offer it openly as your gift.
You cannot lose
That which you freely give.
In truth your love is always present.
Love wonders a meandering path.
Your route to anothers’ heart is understanding that.
If you land on deaf words
Relax and touch your own heart.
Firstly you are misunderstanding your situation.
Secondly you are at cross paths.
You are kind but you are mistaken.
So leave your love to go.
Letting your lover go.
Is the hardest way.
In anamnesis, this time will never leave you.
© 2014-18 Christopher Thompson All Rights Reserved
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