A Poem

The Recesses of My Consciousness
by George A. Miu

A barrier,
Breached in the night by whispers of a promise
Can never be recovered.

Men and women,
They cannot know what is forbidden – merely pleasant
That is why we fell, after all.

Secretively,
I become the interest and the interested,
My patterns change, and torturous early mornings –
they become blissful as the furtive glances
exchanged over the candlelight.

Fear infects me:
for what has passed and is to come,
for my ambitions and desires.
I fear that I will fall, after all.

The present cycles through stress and relief
I cannot make up my own mind and
I dig deep, dissecting words and motions
awaiting with dread the next unknowable cycle
the stress, relief, then stress again.

External view
accounts for little; I appear cool, detached
and they gaze at their facades in the tint
that protrudes from my own masquerade.
Inside I melt.

I am determined, certain there will be a way,
a reconciliation that solves the amalgam of obstacles
that sneer at me from farther away than I can see.

I pick up my pen to pen a poem:
“My mind springs forth a sweet aroma,
Its recollection uncontested,
Substantially permitting me to roam
A memory of the soul well-rested.

Reclining and lethargic,
I look to speak with her adistant,
Provocative, laconic and
Madly reminiscent.

Tenderly, we make ourselves so very insecure
Precarious, excited, outlandish and demure.
But I find the words within…”

… I try to find the words within.
But I cannot – I am affected. Is that why I will fall?
No, say I resoundingly; tomorrow I will be a king.

To be happy, my friends, is to allow your barriers to be breached in the night,
engulfed in the whispers of a promise.