Vain Imaginings

.
In the chaos of the quiet,
when I think I am alone and yet,
I am united in strife and discord
with manic multitudes,
and the world does not go away,
I think about love, and you.
I think about love.


Is that which swells within me,
love... eager to be poured?
That which I've ached to do,
for so many unfulfilled years
of someone else's
misdirected loveless appetite.


I do not begrudge
the honesty of not knowing;
when in their own anxious hearts,
wanting to forcibly give
what they knew not I needed,
they selfishly gave what they,
themselves needed release from.


I have tried to fashion it,
as if to form and fabricate
love into being;
to tangibly exist for
my own selfish purpose,
which is to give to you.


I am constrained
to be released of it,
but prevailing more
in vain imaginings
of building castles
at tempest's edge
with desiccated sand.


And yet I know that
like sere, thirsty sand,
love is uncontainable;
not given to conformity,
but ever shifting to accommodate;
to reconcile each to the other,
and all to itself..
.