A poem about life

For a long time 

I thought, 

what makes the toxic incisions

of love's serrated knife,

sufferable,

and life bearable,

was the ability 

to move quickly 

from one lover to another,

and lose yourself

in a crazy jumble 

of twisted arms, 

and intertwined legs, 

and smiling faces, 

and teary eyes, 

the soft touch of human skin, 

burning with passion, 

the rapid rythm 

of hearts on fire, 

till you lose sense 

of what's whose, 

you know, what I mean ... 

and then it dawned

it were not just 

the arms and legs 

and faces of others

but also my own 

that were jumbled in that jumble, 

not just the hearts of others, 

that were being tossed around,

mercilessly, 

but also my own! 

and not just

other people's souls, 

that were lost 

in that deep dark dead jungle,

raging with vengeance, 

and burning with indignation, 

but also my own! 

My own heart! 

A heart I still imagined

as a tender thing, 

capable of feeling 

pain and joy, 

My soul, 

undead yet, still seeking love, 

and I stood frozen. 

Frozen, shaking and shattered, 

at the havock I'd wrecked;

A frail pale being, 

suddenly bereft of 

all strength, 

all might, 

finding it hard

to even breathe, 

sobbing,

drowning in my own tears, 

seeking, I knew not what, 

but seeking desperately;

not pardon, 

not forgiveness, 

not pity, 

nor another, 

but seeking with all 

my leftover might, 

to be restored,

in some way, 

seeking 

for my heart 

to be able to feel 

the pain again, 

for my spirit 

to feel alive;

seeking to be rehabilitated 

into life and love, 

into hope and faith, 

in being able

to trust again, 

to be able to be there 

for others, 

the people I still loved, 

friends, family, 

anybody, everybody, 

if they'd still have me back 

in their lives, 

and I cried and cried, 

walking alone 

on lonely sidewalks, 

tears rushing down my face, 

my heart writhing in pain,

not a physical pain, 

but that sharp, insufferable,

psychological thing, 

that makes you 

try to run from yourself! 

and so I cried,

for days and endless days

running into months, 

and months running into years,

trying to drown 

the pain in reading, 

and writing,

and watching 

countless movies,

one after another,

from night to morning,

and morning to night, 

till one day, 

I just gathered myself up, 

and walked the walk back 

into friends and family,

and by and by, 

one day at a time, 

being there for others, 

laughing with them when they laughed,

and crying with them when they cried, 

trusting, forgiving, forebearing, 

suffering, struggling, 

and celebrating together, 

life's little joys,

I found myself back, 

no, not like a miracle, 

no miracle happened,

no liberator came, 

nothing, 

just plain hard work,

and the desire to live! 

and then it occured, 

that is just what one needs,

to be able 

to endure life and love, 

Life and Love ... not an escape from it.