“A Parabolic Parable, When Read Between the Lines”

Told you I was writing (I’m actually working on a short story, but I decided to break from it to hammer out my monthly bit of sentimental poetry… I’m such a woman). Also, my god, I’ve posted 132 pieces to my writing site since I started it in 2007. Despite my mediocre poetry, I’m fairly prolific.

***

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

Lost to the swift passage of time
That never-ceasing arrow
Flying through the night
To widen the gap by more than distance
I can still feel your touch
Your presence
Like the echoing cry of a phantom limb
Ghostly
Shapeless
Lingering

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

To dream a thing is to give it form
So the countless nights
The fitful periods of rest
Where we drive for hours on the highway
Cold wind chapping skin
Ears filled with the sounds
Of rock and roll and Armageddon
Those haunted nights
Must exist
Some other where
Some other when

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

The three lines
Created by stress or worry
Or some combination of the two
On his forehead are a mirror
Still lacking symmetry
Lacking perfection
A quirk in your form
Reversed and tacked onto his
But sitting low, so as not to see
How wrong his eyes are
For a moment
It feels real

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

The human mind is a Pandora’s box
Memories locked away inside
Let loose by the vague stirrings
Of the latch
Scenes, glances, moments
Pouring forth at inopportune moments
Disturbing the silent, empty room
Built to house
The absence of you

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

Were we to pass on the street
We might go as two strangers
Never stopping
Never pausing
No flash of our past life to give us reason
To call out the name
Long since used

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

Time passes slowly
And desire swings in vast parabolas
Across the roadmap of our past
With the reserve granted
By removal of the catalyst
I thought to see our workings
Clearly
Like the ratchet-and-crank innards
Of an ancient pocket watch
But I found I could not separate
The parts of the reaction

These are the preconceived recognitions of an oscillating frequency

Spitting in the face of temporal erosion
Of the laws of gravitation when two bodies
Sit so distant from one another
I think to use my limited arsenal of words
To build a bridge
Brick-by-painstaking-brick
Between our minds
To maintain an old connection
And, perhaps, make a new one
So that, with your help
If you’ll have me
I’ll soon cross the miles between us
To show you just what the gravity
Between two souls can do

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