The Other Side I Seek

There is a poem to be written

and I have something to say

yet the words don't come easily.

The mind feels dull

and time consuming

and all that comes is

a feeble thought of

wanting more

I sit in stillness

and the air feels too thin

to be able to be sensed

moving through me

like a reminder

that I want something more

to move within and out

something to taste

like a thick wine

something heavier,

a bit more intoxicating

than what I have

The older I get

the more I think about

"crossing the line"

something more than abandon

a crossing over of a divide

into a place that is more me

I'm not sure what or where the line is

Yet, I cannot stop thinking about

that metaphoric strand

that can allow me to have what I seek

Who drew it?

What awaits on the other side?

And when the fuck will I venture across?

My younger reckless self

still resides

that lover of darkness

lover of those things unspoken

and those dark, moaning melodies

still lead me to dance, move

and crave to touch, to hold

the weight of something heavy and wild

I stop listening to the constant rain

and, instead, walk into the downpour

feeling it soak me

steady and dripping

making fertile that which I want to grow

And then, inside, a blanket

covers me into a warm cocoon

and softens my desires

giving way to rest

lulling to sleep that which begs to be had

that desire for more

The craving will surface

on a future day

the day in which it will will be sought so much

that I will go beyond the divide

of what exists

and to the other side that I seek