these few days of
emptiness and the old war,
despair and me dancing our strange
strange dance
a slow dance with practiced steps
sweaty with an old lover I've grown tired of:
this dance
avoided but finally come around
and shrugging off the inevitability -
the old war re-engaged
despair and me
old lovers finished with surprise
just boredom left in our eyes
we dance
hold each other close, despair and me
knowing naught but this closeness
and in intimacy
embrace
knowing each other so well
true lovers looking only
for the other's death
to end the war, this long, pointless war.
despair and me
dancing our strange, silent dance.
I write this bit in addition to the poem to stress the positive aspect of my latest piece with that awful ‘d’ word, my acceptance and final defeat/victory through the embrace of despair rather than the battle continued: the war’s over, we both win, and retreat with an amicable truce.
My truce is made.
A retreat, perhaps surrender, in mutual respect - it has been a long and bloody war, victories and defeats celebrated and suffered on both sides; an agreement not to take up arms for an unspecified time, my honour intact while despair is to be watched very closely, honour foreign to its mission.
Despair fights on, elsewhere, and I continue my battles, there being so very many enemies to engage. I engage without fear, a warrior forged from steel layered and strengthened through a quarter-century battle against that which embodies fear, death its final weapon, and me only wounded and finding myself recoverable. And in recovery, I am fearless, if I strive to keep myself pointed on the forward path. I eagerly anticipate all that awaits me on that path, friend or foe. I fear only the backward step, the stumble, the slip that impedes my quest forward, my search for present truth in remembrance and honour of my past - a past I must remember to put continually behind me; a map to be referred to in times of doubt, a small help to remind me to retrace my former steps, visit the sites of previous battles only when such a thing is necessary to bolster my strength.
I know despair only withdraws to bind its wounds and plan future attacks. It is like that, knows nothing else but the strategy of offense. It knows me, now and ever, and smarts from the standoff I have forced it into. Already it has sent small, probing attacks, testing my defences. My best move is simply to reach and pull it close, until it retreats in confusion and indignation. But it plans, oh, how it plans, in blind obedience to that which is its very creation.
In fearlessness, I know I must not let down my guard, for despair and I are as old friends who have taken up opposing political ideologies - we are opposed, but unable to forget we are also friends who have fought each other to a standstill, and share a twisted sort of love as a result.
I do not hate or fear despair. But I know it as my enemy, first and foremost - an enemy poised to strike at the first evidence of a chink in my armour. It is my lifelong adversary, my childhood friend.
My God knows of these things, and He helps me as I walk. I beware. I walk forward, and I beware.
I have made such a truce with despair, several times. But despair is strong, and I have known it to win far too many times, in far too many people’s lives. Beware, my friends. Just beware.
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