Poor Ladis?

Donna Summer vs Gnaris Barkley: Crazy vs. I feel love

"My problem is not my passions, but my lack of control of them."  Ladis didn't say that, Jack Kerouac did.  But Ladis could understand.  He understood all too well.  He could tell you of her; the simmering one.  He could tell you of the heat that rose merely by her presence.  The energy contained in her laughter.  The heat simmering in her eyes.  The beckoning call, the undertow, the seething desire that seemed to rise from her very pores.  He could tell you of the soft heat emanating from her eyes.  The tender longing that dripped from her lips.  The fierceness of her wit.  He could tell you all.  The moments where worlds ceased to exist, and the one we lived on even stood still, to allow the creation of the world of just the two.  He could tell you of passions gravity that drew the two.  The stolen moments, where love burned so fierce that they were labeled fugitives from a world that despised their glory.  When lips joined in passion, they closed their eyes.  The reason for this was two-fold.  First, and formost, was to savor every sensation of the gift of the other.  The second reason was to blind themselves from the sheer beauty of the moment shared.  They knew their arrogance to walk amongst the gods would someday cause them to be cast from heaven.  But they didn't care.  The same ones that allowed them such elegance would stand in judgment.  Though they stood blameless.  He could tell you.  But eventually the gods caught up with them.  In destruction however, the Phoenix rose from his ashes.  Poor Ladis?  Maybe.  But he was more glorious than ever.

In their pride to bring him low, bloodied and on his knees, Ladis laughed.  "Is that all you got?", he challenged the gods as they did not destroy him.  Defeated, maybe, but destroyed, no.  Perhaps to chide, they continue their cycle of destruction.  It seems as if everyday his is brought low, only to rise again bearing a grin.  Poor Laids?  "Scars are there to remind us that we lived", he would tell you. 

Of her? They had cast them both from the Garden of Eden.  Fear would be a constant companion.  Its quiet whisper would be heard in the dark of night.  Laids?  He yelled at the darkness, and it yelled back.  But exposure to that which we fear most only makes it appear what it really is... a feeble old man behind a curtain.  Nothing more, nothing more.  Poor Ladis?  Life is too short he would tell you.  Poor Ladis?  If he is to die, which we all do, he will make sure to live before he does so.  He at least, would not die with his song still in his throat.   

The song in her smile

Sarah McLachlan - Solsbury Hill

On a forgotten morning
Sweet Sarah smiled
A forgotten memory
From the mother of laughter
In her precious grin
Lived that she had not Fallen
Into the mess she was in

But escaped
A moment
When

She stood
In front of the mirror
Checking her face
A moment to her self
A sanctum of space
Where the storm of thoughts
could slow
In the gentle brush
Of mascara lash
A song
Absent minded
Chirped through subconscious lips

It was the song given
Had now returned
If indeed it had ever left
Waiting for distraction
Provided by
A moment of peace
And unknowing elegance
If only for a moment
The mindless slip
She recaptured the beauty
The world sought to steal
In her Mona Lisa smile
Reminded
The song lives still

Ulysses

U2 Even better than the real thing

Eyes locked
In the moment
Searing
Despite the
lying of the past
Or Past lies
Truth
Could not be broken
Could not be hidden
Enfeebling fear
Cold
Callous
Drained of life
Would retreat to its mausoleum
Cold
For the undertow
Beckoned
The call to life
The consuming unquenchable fire
Shall forever burn

As waves smashed
Causing creaks in the bow
Ulysses grinned

Demure grin

Sting: A thousand years

Some moments are never lost
Not really

"I don't like Bukowski"
She said
Sly smile growing
Her finger softly circled
While her laughing eyes
Hid a beckoning question
I wanted to spend my life answering

The gentle laugh
Sounding more like a hiccup
As
In simple movements
Her hand reached over to caress my arm
While her eyes
Looked into my soul
As she
Let me look into hers
For a moment
Elusive
But knowing
In the brief eternity
That our souls were accepted
They danced
Slowly
As they
Longed to meld
To feel
As her hand
Longed to meld
To feel
Traced my forearm
Before
Reaching for her coffee
The momentary bow
The cup was raised
A pause
A quick smiling stare before the sip
"I still don't like Bukowski"
Finishing with a demure grin

Atlas shrugged

Bond: Diablo

"Atlas shrugged
And the world shook"
Perhaps
That's all it took

The quickening crush
Pulsing though
The holding abeyance
Building

Abrupt
Challenge
To change
Despite
The pain

One must die
To be born

In the dying light
Before she turned
Away
The color drained from her eyes

The interplay

Kylie/Adele/Dada - Firebomb

The tension in the air
Unseen friction
For those
Who live in the boundary
The neutral zone
Containing the interplay
Between
Two halves
Longing to be made whole

The sky
Moon longs to turn to the next phase
Desperate to capture
The sun
For
The shadow
Has lingered too long
Her beauty desperate to rise
Unabashed

Below
The ground
Spring doggedly drives
To the surface
Ready to coat
The surface with its warmth
That no winter could cover
Burning
Pressing
Ready for release
Eruption
In
A call life

So its children
Can return
Eyes calling light
Deep into the night
And dance
In the interplay
between
The two