RLB (February 14,1985 / Tulsa, Oklahoma)

Transient Passion, Infinite Reflection

Momentary bliss upon a lofted terrace
With only the maturing of time to scare us;
Our concerns are of the present situation.
Never did we consider the repercussion.

Yet, this beauteous catharsis of raw emotion
Was, fully, foreseeable from the creation
Of our friendship, so empowered by obsession.
We both vehemently desired love’s lesson.

To delve in uncertainty of relationship-
A calm sea of warm sun caresséd days on a ship
Or survive the wrath of torrid sea marred by scorn-
Such a thing unknown, thusly so, we’re the forlorn.

Striving for such events of love’s state, incessant,
We stumbled upon each other, and our transient.
From feet to feat all was perfectly enacted.
With justifiable emotion, and lack wed

Thoughts, did we bring to unison our body and soul.
Where two once stood, only one now moved as a whole.
Tension and passion, two of the un-equal same
Became one, in this failed attempt to grasp for fame.

To become one of the a’famed who have love
In its truest form, as we ascend far above
Those still searching, and finally understand all
We have been denied before love’s pro-longéd call.

But our ears still did not hear their desired calling.
Passionately our lips caressed, only emptying
Of narrow sensation -deserving the title “lust”-
Could be felt as imperfect emotions did bust

Past walls of adamant control. Was it right, then?
I am not sure, but wrong… it could never have been.
With our descent toward the previous terrace,
The aged hand of time is there to assault us.

To the table, father brings us hindsight bias
So that we may feast upon actions made by us.
After our intellectualized reflection
We come to a most un-favored realization:

Our precedings of a most misguided consent,
Seemingly infinite, were merely transient.
If father truly knows best, why for ye delay?
Do ye desire your children to learn their own way?

Necessary lapse of emotional actions,
Compriséd of those lust empowered distractions,
Is the blessedly-curséd event that happened
Yet should have found beginning in its own hap end.

by Robert L. Bixler III

Other poems of BIXLER III (69)

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