Monday, August 15, 2011

The Hunger

I deliberated a long time about putting this one up.  It's personal, revealing and I was right on the rev limiter when I wrote it.

I'd watched the David Bowie/Catherine Deneuvre stylish vampire pic of the same name and that's the title's Genesis.  I've always been a Stevie Nicks fan and what started out as a poem about her and her lyrics found itself intertwined with a steamy relationship I was having at the time.  Hmm, unusual that.

I'm still not sure what it's about and the meaning seems to have shifted over the years.  What I thought then seems to be revealing itself as something completely different.  The way I call it now it's about the hunger for youth and passion, how if uncontrolled it devours your future.  The "subtle thread between what is known and what is said" relates to hiding our motivations (particularly in relationship) behind pretty, calculated words. 

I'm not entirely convinced this is a good idea but I really like this poem and it's been buried in a box for years.


She calls me back to the gypsy life
yet I know she's as much in chains as I;
Chains of gold, chains of lace, just an image, just a face.
And still I see her through my heart;
the futile moves as she plays her part,
the loneliness of her road
are things I feel, are things I know
Could she hear her heart, confront her fear
the chains would break ... disappear.  

My head is full of the taste of you
rolled round my mouth like a fleshy fruit;
my constant thirst cannot be quenched,
this gnawing hunger never spent.
Your body scent, her sultry eyes,
the lotus flower, the butterfly.
Fleeting thoughts, sensual dreams,
fill her voice ... a primal scream.

Reality a subtle thread between what is known and what is said.

Make a pillow of my chest
lay in my arms and take your rest, close your eyes,
breathing slow, dreaming in the afterglow ...
Know the thirst that's never quenched,
though the fire is doused, the bedsheets drenched;
the hunger, never satisfied
'til hearts are stilled, and life has died.  

She calls me back to the gypsy life
yet she's no more free than you or I;
bound in leather behind bars of sand
manacled at foot and hand.
But she hypnotizes with her song
I've listened to so hard and long;
 building dreams for you and I
to make our own, to bring to life.
Dressed in clothes of mist and thread
she's caught inside her hunger's web.
Reality a subtle thread between what is known and what is said.

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