Upon this golden bedbetween the living and the deadI ache knowing that the things I lovewill eventually fade away.( I am the poet of the fallen world )____ to write about loveis to live on this earth.Once we stop lovingwe no longer belong herewe drift into a dance____ with death.No onelikes to be reminded of their own mortalityit is a quick snap of the wilda point of no return____ the ‘not’ being.It is the under-current ‘why’____into the wonders of life.____ it is the sadness of death,the flowers turning burnt Sienna,the poems that flow from impermanenceand the path that disappears.Maybe not being here is more satisfyingthan we can imagine,____ to float where the migratory birdsfly, in the spirit of the stars, the moonand the emptiness.(Don’t we all know deep in our bloodstream)____ intensity cannot be sustainedand we will always be hungry;it is our appetites that keep us alive.( In this moment )I no longer see you everywhere____ only glimpses from this distant field,does losing someone change us ____or do we forget the pain and rename it?Always I remainthe beggar of wordslaying here watching and waitingfor your crumbs, like storiesto fall so that I might live.This is the agony of self ____© Poem — Gesso CocteauFrom ‘Stranded Hearts and Other Sorrows’
(to be released in 2022)
Photo © Gesso Cocteau
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