''Folly''
Caution And Desire
By K. Scott Smith
1.
If ever there was a will to quiet,
a will to silence ,
a will to sleep,
let me be done with it.
Let me swing and make loud noises
from the tops of tall trees.
Let others that pass mock me openly
and from the ground curse at me, condemn me.
It will hardly matter at all.
Becoming both cynical and dangerously truthful.
2.
You offer me caution,
I offer you desire,
but secretly both will conspire,
to bring about a lethal kiss
or some lethal night-
with some silly and profound morning.
Long Sunday afternoons,
she rises like the Sun to open the door,
invites me inside with a gesture.
Leaving with a long smile,
each silvery cloud made to burst
and rain down invisible music.
3.
Bright eyes assail me,
like some soft treachery in the night,
two bodies woven like vines
or two mighty rivers converging.
Each mist is a spell cast,
each moon is a rising sun...
I lay with her like a child playing in a lush green field.
Each smile conspiring to overcome me.
And in the taking and in the giving nothing was lost.
Like creation or some wholehearted desire,
some whim come to fruition,
a new world to discover.
4.
I discovered a city in my heart,
and in my hearts most secret heart,
into the abyss itself.
There I could watch it,
stirring with it,
like some ancient thing,
on starry shores.
To become ourselves completely,
unfolding and collapsing,
lifespans-historical perspectives,
the overwhelming titles and measurements,
the incredible weights
and every genius or failed genius
I left the city there,
abandoning it to the abyss,
the two carefully watching each other.
5.
Poor taste allowing nothing to be
or to create itself...
A bitter and heartbroken spirit,
that wishes to rise but will not rise,
will probably never rise.
6.
I keep drowning myself
it weighs on my heart,
I cannot undo the deeds.
that have laid me bare
laid me to waist...
I left myself in ruins,
on city streets,
them again in the wilderness,
the high and long fields.
I watched an entire summer turn Grey
Never once did I turn away.
7.
Becoming your own muse,
belonging totally to the world
by totally belonging to yourself.
To be ones own king, ones own physician,
ones own army, ones own audience,
ones own god.
To satisfy each cunning urge
to live rather than write...
To walk wherever one chooses,
to live and die any death,
to be sovereign,
Bound to nothing yet bound to all.
Becoming a wonderful paradox
the supreme contradiction.
To speak when one desires
and to be silent when one doesn't
To tell stories or not tell stories.
To teach or not to teach.
8.Common Era,
that's what this is.
Even the bravest and most brilliant dreamers
collect only dust and bruises.
Condemns and confesses,
abandons then abuses,
all that life could bring,
all that the day could bare.
Ripe then rotten
fallen to the ground
like some spent angel
confounded by lust.
9.
Grieving the golden days,
lush with breath and swollen lungs,
days when your great heart still beat,
pounding, pumping blood,
You and your deep laugh,
so wise to be so young,
to have died all gorgeous and sad,
unexpectedly you fell before me,
and I wept till the day commanded ''no more!"
I layed down and tried to die
but each evening kept me barely awake,
barely alive,
kept just sane enough to last.
10.
All these stones,
with the names on them.
All these days,
that never come.
The heart gets by as best it can-
I was never sure about anything-
Things you"ll never manage to say,
lived another county away.
11.
Each cruel hello
is made of goodbyes
each brave word exclaimed
in a fit, a bout of pride.
Each whim's halo
cost you dearly,
each bruised sunset
that you have cursed and counted
then and last
condemned and confounded.
Each deadly breath you take-
each lethal step you take-
towards living-towards dying
Is life.
Renew the hour with a song,
or some cruel prayer,
made to stand and made to laugh,
all desire to think or to create
fleeing like cowards.
12.
To be suddenly stricken (by rigor)
the loss of vitality and the dry passing of vigor,
into the lamps that sway on ropes,
pegs and convenient vines,
to be seduced then overwhelmed by wine,
bravely and foolishly mixed with Rum,
candles left burning all night,
some have burned out,
others still burning,
each candle wept its flame
of wax and heat
The long journeys undertaken,
beneath the sky
we tread from dawn to dusk.
The End
1.
If ever there was a will to quiet,
a will to silence ,
a will to sleep,
let me be done with it.
Let me swing and make loud noises
from the tops of tall trees.
Let others that pass mock me openly
and from the ground curse at me, condemn me.
It will hardly matter at all.
Becoming both cynical and dangerously truthful.
2.
You offer me caution,
I offer you desire,
but secretly both will conspire,
to bring about a lethal kiss
or some lethal night-
with some silly and profound morning.
Long Sunday afternoons,
she rises like the Sun to open the door,
invites me inside with a gesture.
Leaving with a long smile,
each silvery cloud made to burst
and rain down invisible music.
3.
Bright eyes assail me,
like some soft treachery in the night,
two bodies woven like vines
or two mighty rivers converging.
Each mist is a spell cast,
each moon is a rising sun...
I lay with her like a child playing in a lush green field.
Each smile conspiring to overcome me.
And in the taking and in the giving nothing was lost.
Like creation or some wholehearted desire,
some whim come to fruition,
a new world to discover.
4.
I discovered a city in my heart,
and in my hearts most secret heart,
into the abyss itself.
There I could watch it,
stirring with it,
like some ancient thing,
on starry shores.
To become ourselves completely,
unfolding and collapsing,
lifespans-historical perspectives,
the overwhelming titles and measurements,
the incredible weights
and every genius or failed genius
I left the city there,
abandoning it to the abyss,
the two carefully watching each other.
5.
Poor taste allowing nothing to be
or to create itself...
A bitter and heartbroken spirit,
that wishes to rise but will not rise,
will probably never rise.
6.
I keep drowning myself
it weighs on my heart,
I cannot undo the deeds.
that have laid me bare
laid me to waist...
I left myself in ruins,
on city streets,
them again in the wilderness,
the high and long fields.
I watched an entire summer turn Grey
Never once did I turn away.
7.
Becoming your own muse,
belonging totally to the world
by totally belonging to yourself.
To be ones own king, ones own physician,
ones own army, ones own audience,
ones own god.
To satisfy each cunning urge
to live rather than write...
To walk wherever one chooses,
to live and die any death,
to be sovereign,
Bound to nothing yet bound to all.
Becoming a wonderful paradox
the supreme contradiction.
To speak when one desires
and to be silent when one doesn't
To tell stories or not tell stories.
To teach or not to teach.
8.Common Era,
that's what this is.
Even the bravest and most brilliant dreamers
collect only dust and bruises.
Condemns and confesses,
abandons then abuses,
all that life could bring,
all that the day could bare.
Ripe then rotten
fallen to the ground
like some spent angel
confounded by lust.
9.
Grieving the golden days,
lush with breath and swollen lungs,
days when your great heart still beat,
pounding, pumping blood,
You and your deep laugh,
so wise to be so young,
to have died all gorgeous and sad,
unexpectedly you fell before me,
and I wept till the day commanded ''no more!"
I layed down and tried to die
but each evening kept me barely awake,
barely alive,
kept just sane enough to last.
10.
All these stones,
with the names on them.
All these days,
that never come.
The heart gets by as best it can-
I was never sure about anything-
Things you"ll never manage to say,
lived another county away.
11.
Each cruel hello
is made of goodbyes
each brave word exclaimed
in a fit, a bout of pride.
Each whim's halo
cost you dearly,
each bruised sunset
that you have cursed and counted
then and last
condemned and confounded.
Each deadly breath you take-
each lethal step you take-
towards living-towards dying
Is life.
Renew the hour with a song,
or some cruel prayer,
made to stand and made to laugh,
all desire to think or to create
fleeing like cowards.
12.
To be suddenly stricken (by rigor)
the loss of vitality and the dry passing of vigor,
into the lamps that sway on ropes,
pegs and convenient vines,
to be seduced then overwhelmed by wine,
bravely and foolishly mixed with Rum,
candles left burning all night,
some have burned out,
others still burning,
each candle wept its flame
of wax and heat
The long journeys undertaken,
beneath the sky
we tread from dawn to dusk.
The End
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Caution And Desire
Caution And Desire
