Substantiae

I was once asked, “what is Real?”
In a world so full of illusions and intimate nuances,
How does one separate Falsehoods from Axioms,
and trivialities from necessities?

My response was sober,
For I understood all too well the jarring transition
From virtual to Concrete.

The Real cannot be escaped.
Not through senses, not through words,
Not through policies, nor through verbs,
Real cannot be made unreal.

The many Falsehoods we may cleave to,
May lead to Soma permitting our flight,
We might argue with all our might,
Some abstract fact or another,

But believe me, brother,
That which is real cannot be wished away,
It cannot be washed away,
It cannot be witched away,

It cannot be prayed away,
It cannot be swayed away,
Sprayed away or set aside,
It cannot be dealt with.

That which is real imposes,
It exposes the frivolity that Man subsists by,
It finds his list Why’s and decimates them,
It awes and inspires,

It dawns and requires the fullest attention,
Death, sorrow, suffering,
Birth, ebullience, and wondering,
These are the denizens of the real.

A field littered with bodies,
A ward seeded with infants,

This is Real.

Harmonic

“I wish I could love every woman I’ve ever encountered.”
I see your insecurities: I was trained to recognize and respond,
React to your tears with unconditional shoulders,
Be the damp cloth that turned your smolders
Into distant memories.
I have loved and gained, loved and abandoned, Loved and lost,
Each time, I wish I had been the one strong enough to endure,
Strong enough to ensure,
That your heart would be tended and mended to.
Such a splendid sight, a man in love.
Such a a valiant fight, a man in love.

I never wanted to hurt you love,
You typified the inflection between Quixote and abandon,
When reckless amour becomes inconceivable chore as a man changes in kind,
In time, I hope another comes along, settling on your heart’s song
Knowing his melody is in tune.