Love is a complex thing, made of
time, growth, and experiences.
They can not be spoken of independently,
but such is the lesson today.

Time

Many have seen my writings of
an angel; she entered my life three
years ago to bring me
heaven and hell.

A seeming never ending saga began
in a chapel and a corridor. But I convinced myself of certain things
so that I would not fall.

Time goes on and so do I,
views change and so do I,
the world changes and so do I.
Time changes and my feelings glide

to new and unknowable, unthinkable
heights. I guess falling is not meant
for intention. So unintentionally,
unwittingly, uncontrollably, I fell.

Time has brought it’s ups and downs,
created strange paths to hurt or
help the unsuspecting. Time has not
been kind, yet kinder than all.

Today is the feeling I had yesterday,
except more powerful than
tomorrow’s could ever have
been conceived.

The problem with stopping ‘now’
is that tomorrow will come. Destiny
can only be postponed for a
moment of forever.

Growth

When the angel first appeared, I
was a man (or boy?) of God. My,
how things have changed. Cynicism
and existentialism have lead my way

following a clarification on reality.
This moved me from faith to
confusion as my world fell down
beside me, a new world dawning.

Finally, a lesson was learnt on the
ability to find happiness with or
without and wherever you
happened to be. What a truth!

Faith and hope were gone to be
replaced by questions and laughter.
Friends were made and a light
rekindled; a love grown.

We understood each other more
with the absence of invisible beings.
We could speak of joyous things
with the absence of invisible beings.

Yet some things did not change;
I am unsure whether my hand
reaches for nothing, or if we are
passing lights on an empty road.

Whichever we were,
whatever we are,
our paths have still not crossed
and nothing has changed.

Experiences

And yet how everything changes
in the dream of a solitary night. Well,
let us begin at the fore before the
dream of that solitary night.

It’s never been more than casual conversation,
that’s fine by me. At first it was
nothing more than a chat in a corridor,
while she mistakenly pulled my heartstrings.

It was followed by unmet invitations
(why did I not make the most of chance?!),
and invisible, technological,
empty conversations.

Finally, we meet again amidst a time
of social emptiness on my part. Oh,
the joy that she brought to a
lifeless, broken heart.

We would meet again, and the
New Year was not as terrible as
it could have been. Talking and
wanting and cliches coming true.

Things slowed down, but my feelings
did not. I would wait, look forward to
the meetings of tomorrow, the times
to see and talk and hope.

Daydreams would pass my way
and stories would fill my mind.
But I still yet wait for reality
to catch up with my dreams.

The Dream Of The Solitary Night

I was with my former contemporaries
discussing religion and politics,
apparently it was wrong to form
opinion not dictated by men in suits.

I looked outside to see a field filled
with more of those formers, and I
knew that she must be among them.
I searched and I searched;

my subconscious was on my side.
Her glowing hair, her glowing smile,
she was there in full form as only
she could be, at least to me.

My mother briefly enters and
mutters something (I wonder what
Freud would say?), but disappears
to leave us to our happiness.

I’m about to quote someone in my
usual pretentious way, when she
says to me, “I’m going to lean in
and kiss you now.”

And she did.

It was amazing and perfect and
more than I could have dreamed.
I forgot my words when forever
broke, and she left with my heart again.

But it was a dream, just a dream.
My subconscious torturing me yet
again. I don’t know what to do now,
but I hope for yesterday’s dream tonight.

© Blake Leitch November 9, 2012

There was a time when it
felt as though every cliche
came true. All lovey dovey;
complete feelings amidst an abyss.
I thought it was everything I wanted,
thought a shape was wrong and
meaningless. Now, I don’t know…
Character? Intelligence? Physical
beauty? I thought it was all there?
Maybe I was wrong; maybe there
was nothing special except for all
that was special. Was it not?

What it was, what it wasn’t; I can’t
figure it out, I can’t try to begin to.
It’s been a knowledge of some time
that I must release, but this is one area
where the heart is more powerful
(or whatever chemicals they may
be), and it’s been periods of triumph
and trauma. I think I now know what
heartbreak is, at least on some small
level. It is a crack, one that will
be there forever more. But, such a
cliche, maybe time heals everything…

© Blake Leitch November 7, 2012

I’m told I deserve it, happiness
and misery. But it simply
cannot happen. Technology,
geography, people and
imperfections in the way.
We know each other
better than ourselves,
and yet you remain a
mystery. Every cliche
you’ve ever heard is exactly
what you mean to me; the
cruelest being that all I want
is what I cannot have.

© Blake Leitch November 2, 2012

Maybes have driven me for all the time
I remember, a labyrinth of glass walls
and dead ends. Not able to tell whether looking through
to a happy tomorrow or a hopeful yesterday. The
voices in my mind, or of my mind?, keep me kept me
hoping and happy… almost masochistic. But maybes
cannot be held onto as will bes, the unsure cannot
define the definite. So I let go of the expectation of a
maybe while always holding hope in my heart. I am divided
at my soul; half full, half empty… more than the nothing it is.
The full hope will remind me of the yesterdays when I wanted
fuller tomorrows. The empty expectation creates a hole
that tries to fill itself with the Perfect Monster. But I hold on,
I do not let myself fall in any manner. I do not fall to the
depths from which I have climbed, I do not fall for
my heart and its hope. I rise to today.

© Blake Leitch October 14, 2012

The rain, she falls,
she falls. I lie under
her drops, she falls,
she falls. I am massaged
by beauty as she falls,
she falls. I await a time
when elements amount
to love, when I can live
a sober day to remember
just how she falls,
she falls. More than a gull.
More than a squawk.

© Blake Leitch October 9, 2012

Love is not defined by the
space between two lovers.
Love is not defined by the
time between two lovings.
Love is defined by the
actions in that time,
it is defined by continued
desire between those worlds.
If the world claims that reality
prevents love ‘tween space and time,
tell the world to go to hell
and live the dream we can’t believe.

© Blake Leitch September 15, 2012

Today I tried writing a poem of love,
of what true, real, raw love is.
I knew in my heart exactly what it was,
I knew in my heart exactly what I wanted to write.
But that’s just it; love can not be written.
We can try and explain our feelings
and the way we feel about those who matter most,
but at the heart of it, love is found in the heart.
It’s not the flowers, the soft toys and souvenirs.
It’s not the outfits and making sure we look perfect.
In the end, the only tell-tale sign of love is not found
in words, deeds or actions. It is found in the only
word, the only deed, the only action. We know
that love is found only in the embrace.

© Blake Leitch September 2, 2012