Being in denial is the worst kind
of self-torture if only because our alter-ego is well aware of what is
happening and does not let up its torrent of accusation and recriminatory
taunts; turning a deaf inner ear may win us a few battles, but we’ll not win
the war and peace of mind doesn’t stand a chance...
KISS OF LIFE
You had an angel’s smile,
white shirt flapping like wings
in a breeze;
out of nowhere, you came,
forcing this lonely Unbeliever
to his knees
You took me in your arms
kissed me, your lips fanning ashes
all but spent;
my long-smouldering body
burst into flames of mad desire
as was meant
A passion raging in the soul,
far more than sexual, rose like a
ghost
set free...
into the kind of heaven
sure to offer unconditional
sanctuary
You named and shamed me
out of a denial worse
that has to be worse than any Hell.
Oh, ecstasy! Left for dead,
but born again on you, and you
in me
Copyright
R. N. Taber 1973; 2012
[Note: An earlier version of this
poem appears in the blog archives and in 1st eds. of First
Person Plural, by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2002; 2nd ed. in
preparation.]
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