Alchemy, Poetry, Psychology, Writing

The House

Your chess game doesn’t work well on a poker table.

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Alchemy, Poetry, Psychology, Writing

The Void

It is not so damaging,
not really painful,
to live without
the ones you love.
 
When you choose to,
at the right time,
on the spaceless hour,
you can pin them,
like butterflies,
on the white ceiling
above your bed.
 
The flutter of thought
can tickle
their wings.
Your breath,
a fair summer breeze,
could set them sailing
along
the coastline
of your sleeping face.
 
Then,
you could conjure them
out of sand
and the air stuck in
wind pipes
and clogged clay-
the debris
of a rainy night.
Like magic.
 
And from hay
you stole from the sky.
The Milky Way.
 
Little garden gnomes.
Smiling at you, as time goes by,
in eternal remains
of yesterday.
 
A whiff of tomorrow.
Ashes of today.
 
They are palpable,
these remarkable creatures
we make
by breathing life into
our belief
in a merciful
and fair
God
and the logic
of
children.
 
There is no beginning of loneliness.
 
Only the immaculate conception
of a nondescript
desire.
 
The mind,
the demons of ambition,
the agony of mortality,
the absolute necessity
of survival
at all costs.
 
And then you learn
how to live
without the ones you
love.
 
This lesson
is
priceless.
 
It is a perfect crime.
 
The perpetrator
and
the victim
share the same
wounded heart.
 
Thus, the void always wins.
 
And the winner
of this folly,
takes
all.
 
© Milana Vujkov, The Void, 2008
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