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To the Point Chasing
the Divine Feminine,
I write poetry, trying to describe How
you make me feel and what you do to me. As
I’ve searched for all the ways to tell you how I feel,
I realize now I’m simply flirting With
the ultimate tease. From
my end, it’s simple: I love you.
But I don’t know how to tell you, or Where
to tell you, or even who to tell. 10/26/94 On Hold You’re
just a feeling;
Where does a feeling live? How
do you follow a feeling?
How do I contact you, And
where do I find you?
This
feeling sits on my chest, teasing and
Taunting me like a schoolyard bully. Enough,
I say.
“Uncle,” I cry, But
you refuse to let me go. 10/26/94 I Wonder... I
wonder how softly I could touch you,
or how deeply I could love you. I
wonder how quietly I could say I love you,
or how eagerly I would say it to you. I
wonder how delicately I could kiss you,
or how wantonly I could be kissed by you. I
wonder how closely I could look at you,
or how openly I could give myself to you. And
I wonder how quickly I would give it all up for you,
or how easily I could surrender to you, If
only I knew where you were. 10/24/94
- 11/4/94 The Wind The
air around me is quite elusive;
Odorless, weightless and formless, It’s
too delicate to touch and impossible to hold. And
then a breeze stirs, hinting at the
Subtle substance of moving air That
can now be felt and possibly heard. Breeze
matures into wind,
Absolute in it’s power and Ability
to make itself known. That
wind reminds me how little control I really have,
For I am small leaf, ripped from My
tree, and drawn inescapably into your wake. 11/10/94
Hard as a Rock I
was raised to be like granite;
Cold, hard, sharp, unmoving and unmoved. Be
like a rock, they said, and you’ll never get hurt. But
each year, when times are at their coldest,
Little bits of soft, feminine moisture find Their
way into the smallest of cracks within the rock. At
night, the water freezes within the granite.
It manages to expand, and slowly Widens
the crack in the rock. You’ve
become those tiny drops of water,
Slipping through the cracks in my hardness, And
breaking them away. 11/20/94 Passing Through Perhaps
I’m getting used to you not being
here.
Emptiness and mere existence have become bed partners. A
void fills that great space you created,
Turning fulfillment into an empty vacuum. I
desperately miss that longing feeling, and long for the yearning you create.
You used to break my heart every moment, touching me, While
never quite being there.
The hopeless longing is better than the emptiness. There’s
such a thing as being too elusive, too removed.
Play hard to get, I heard, and you might not get chosen. Lately
the world and it’s reality come
At me like a freight train, relentless and unstoppable. I’m
so busy getting out of the way, I can’t hear you calling.
Are you calling me? Eternity
is that time span your head can cope with
But not your heart. When
you’re near, the yearning and craving I feel make reality
Worth tolerating. I miss
that longing. 1/11/95 The Wall of Tears She
asked me who told me not to cry.
Everyone, I thought, but Nothing
came out of my mouth. Why
did they make me hide you, bury, you, deny you?
What makes all those men so afraid Of
the Feminine they can't even see? I
found the gate that acknowledged pain, and
I found the door that hides the rage. Behind
them all is the wall that leads to tears. I
cried many times today;
All but one were for other peoples' pain. An
acceptable loophole, I suppose, in my training. Pain
led me to the wall of tears, but
I found no way through. The
sadness of not knowing how to cry, made me cry. 3/25/95 all material Copyright Bret Stephenson 2001
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For more information, contact Bret. All material Copyright by Bret Stephenson 1997-2008 Last Updated December 20, 2008
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