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Writings
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I
Sold my Soul
The falling rain symbolised the aching
in me. I
needed you as much as I needed air
to breath. I
watched a drop of rain run down your
leg, it's
course diverted by a vein. Everything
that I owned
was yours if I could but taste you, feel you. And then
your eyes met mine, you smiled and
I sold you my
soul. I remember the sweet masculine smell
of your smooth body. I remember the valleys
and the hills that
had to be crossed as my tongue travelled
south from
your nipples. I remember tasting every inch of
you and regretting that I could not look into your eyes at the same time.
The chiselled beauty of your body was so intoxicating to me. I drank it
all and became drunk with love and lust, gluttonous with passion
and desire. I could never get enough. Your
eyes were my sun, your lips filled my lungs and my belly was satisfied
by your touch. And then one
day you were gone and so too my soul which I had sold.
A
poem by David Vukani Levin
Something I have realised...
I
care only that I have spent too much of my life with no one
at my side to share the sunsets, the starry
skies, the turbulent beauty of storm clouds. I wish that I had
reached out to people more, instead of retreating inward, I wish that that
I had not made my heart into a sheltering closet. I realise that there
is less hope of survival alone than with others. I have been acutely
aware that terror, betrayal, and cruelty have a
human face, but, I have not sufficiently appreciated that courage, kindness,
and love have human faces as well.
Hope is not a cottage industry, it is not a product that
I
can manufacture, not a substance that I can secrete in my cautious
solitude. Hope is to be found in
other people, by reaching out, by taking risks, by opening the
fortress of my heart.
The thing that I have been most scared of is this
thing that I
find within myself. I now realise that it is nothing that I should
be frightened of. It is the purpose
for which we exist. This reckless caring.
Extracted and paraphrased from 'Intensity', a book by Dean
Koontz
Written in a dark period
Oh
almighty God, Creator of the Universe!
I need your help! How long must I be this confused and
fumble around in the dark? How long can my heart
withstand this onslaught of unhappiness? Will these dark
days ever end?
Have I made you so angry that you refuse to help me
while confusion and distress surge through my veins?
What must I do?
You may be angry for me asking this question, but surely
I have to ask if I do not know. Never be afraid to ask
they taught. Do you disagree with this teaching. I need
to know. Either way. Tell me what to do or tell me not to
ask.... but your silence is excruciating!
Written in a very dark period of my life.
