As my Muse slowly started toddling back to health…

The Existentialist’s Pride

-Thought- and Grief–so familiar to each other-
But more silent than silence to confess to each other-
The ravishes they conspire and do to her together.

Still she unlistens her world from its ever heaving heaviness
Bears it all bare -imparted- more alone than alone
It takes much pride to break her promise-
To keep her crystal shine pristine self away from it.
And she fights the existential blight with the unyielding shield
Never let the world know her woe-
Was ‘must’ for her woe-

I bore you two long ago in this little sag of memories
For the thinking men say-
-‘thought and grief are the responses of memory’-
So cozy they stay in the sunlight hours
I leave you there all through the city hours
Silent and smooth rolled in my velvety quilt
I leave you there with my lonely guilt
To keep you from my toiling silt.
And then there is this time
Of the dying sun unleashing your chime
With me squelching in nocturnal slime
And then there is no rush or shush or hush
When slowness is in its lush
When memory exuberant fattening the blush
There you bounce out sentient in my bloom
That I wail and writhe in pain in gloom
You tormenting me in an ever winding loom
And still I keep you so safe - so loved-
Though you spurned my peace long ago and still so proud
For I am the human to forgive and you –the Gods- the love- rightful to be left unkilled.
For never let the world know her woe-
Was ‘must’ for her woe.