Ahh but you see, hugs are not something I give out for free
And quite smilarly I do not accept them Merely as charity
I’ve always been told that I’m rather cold, prefering my own company. Only ever see a hug, as something of a bug, I’m not touch and feely
Whatever a hug means to you, I’ll respect A hug that is free is not wasted on me. I love a good hug, I love to keep snug, Yet you’ll get no hugs from thee. For I don’t agree with the philosophy That a hug should be a mere charity. I see a hug as something special, I do not treat them as trivial. So you can hug me but if I hug you, See the situation differently; Don’t feel my arms, don’t feel “me”. No… Feel safe, Feel happy. Feel loved.
I have before me a card. It is Jumbo sized Art. It has a story, this card. It is the Ace of Hearts. I found it, or stole it, one black day With the sky from the clouds raining grey. “Missions” he called it, laughing with glee and flickering eyes that betrayed his honesty. I had naught to juggle, and nothing to squeeze but then someone out there warmed to my pleas; Two jumbo sized packs, one of red, one of blue. I silently start shuffling, and watch as I do. He bounces up and down all around the room, Cramped as it is, there’s not the slightest boom The cards I am shuffling are now being sorted. The blue pack is missing the cards most important. This fiend before me protects his best Breaking the rules? nothing to contest The four aces he keeps close to his heart, But I know where they are, at least in part. I look up from my royal flush, My poker face doesn’t betray as much and see this monster calling for help But with a mad grin, not a loud yelp. “Missions” he calls it, laughing viciously The angel in the room jumps up immediately. Well there you go, that seals my fate Again into darkness to head a clean plate I stand up and prepare to brave the rain and I laugh at the other’s looks of pain. As the cards go smack down upon the table, The demon rushes out the door with my angel I’m ready to run, pursue, protect and die But something has stopped me, caught my eye His four aces are there and so heavily exposed lust for an angel; As a hole in defence, it shows. There is only one card that I care to take One of four aspects that I intend to break The club is his skills, his practice and trade The genius to which that combines is his Spade The diamond is his luck and face but in part, it is his amazing ability to abuse the heart. I grabbed the card, the organ throbbing in fright I Stuffed it in my pocket and clenched it tight. Run out the door into the rain, past the overflowing storm drain. The water coming down as a wall I run and slip and avoid a fall There’s always the light of the angel before Beautiful hair showing me through the downpour All the while I clenched the card, I never let go Despite it’s burning black blood ruining the show But I got through to the end of the night When I got home I knew I had won the fight The demon failed again, as the angel survived His heart is disfigured and no longer alive It’ll grow back, such an ungodly sight To him the loss of a heart is slight. But it will never be the same one, and that’s fine Because this is no longer his heart, it’s mine. This is a symbol for the angel; I have her not him But I vow I will not abuse her under light dim. I’ll not rip it in half, I’ll never set it on fire But I’ll never ever use it like that horrible liar. And now I sit here, with Heart’s Ace before me The crease through the middle should tell you its’ story.
Whenever he draws that spiral, everyone’s eyes glaze over; It’s obviously just another diversion. But there are three people in the room who notice that swirl, and four who understand it; The Riddler, the Politician, the Redhead and the Poet.
If the other eyes are glazing, then the enlightened four’s eye is the fire. Like a fingerprint, this flame is unique for each of them. The Riddler reflects knowledge, and reveals a candle. It burns within wisdom, not without time. The Politician captures ambitious modesty, And sends a smile of realisation over his shoulder. The Redhead blinks osmosis, green fire, blue smoke, red sky. Both sub specie aeternitatis and ignorance lie in that eye. But the Poet can’t know the fire in his eyes; Mirrors and windows are someone else’s reflection.
He can only believe it is there, and try to guess at its true nature. People say he knows everything. Yet they are foolish for thinking he knows anything. The people who make such wild claims about “He”, Should realise what a God that makes “Me”, And retract the claim if they believe and fear Hell. If they don’t? Their hypocrisy would have God as a mere poet regardless.
Of eternity, reality, infinity, God. The poet is not. They are all reflections of a single eye’s idea. Not his eye. He can see another’s reflection, but never notice his own eye.
All four understand that spiral, But only the Riddler, Politician, and Redhead notice it. The Poet does not notice it. Why? Because he can see it…
I always thought he was the enemy In that simple – not quite love – triangle. “We’re still learners” was forever in mind Mistakes of the past never left behind. I regret nothing. I would do it all… again? Yes. In exactly the same way; No difference to my actions, because The past is only a chain of events That have led me to where I am right now. To break that chain, is to commit murder – Bloody murder, murder, murder most foul. I am not who I was an hour ago, That hour was but another link of chain And I sit now in the present, gazing, back at the links of my amazing chain. Some of the links are stronger and harder to imagine the chain lacking; the past, The events, the links and the memories without which we are nothing of ourselves. If you break a single link in a chain You break the chain, you kill the present: You.
This was one of those events, tragedy I could never be here without knowing. And so I look back and laugh at the fool that used to be me, his stupid mistakes. And I learn. That triangle, was not won. Events from that triangle are again like bad omens, jumping up on my chain; A redhead. A good friend. And a formal. I can see a new triangle forming Again I must run the hypotenuse But experience and foresight are mine I have the advantage of time, and space – yes, I live closer then him on a map. But he already knows her, not as I would come to. But they were on friendly terms. Funny how futile this was, everything I was doing, only set up more pain. I did not want to lose a friend again.
Shakespeare was right you know, with Othello; Suspicion and Jealousy can drive you, usually mad, but sometimes to success and quite rare when it happens to be both. This triangle never was one of love I always thought he was the enemy And in doing so only made him one. Mistakes only seemed to be repeating themselves, and I was ready to cry, die. “I give up”; Those words which I never say passed by my lips that day in ignorance of the victory that I had achieved. Despite all the evidence; I had won! But the announcement had to come too late The triangle had grown more than three sides. It was a web, horrible and tangled. I escaped to one side and hung over the edge, holding on by a thread – not red No, this was not a redhead. An old friend who delivered me my true victory; An invitation, the sweetest success. Everything would have been perfect but no, She had to be stuck in the webs center. The spider in this web had lost it’s prey; “She couldn’t come today” and retreated to the center of this web it had spun. He was the real enemy from the start Always there, but that’s not the scary part, He thinks like me. That sparkle in his eye Same as the smile that I tend to wear His thoughts, to me, were déja vu. No more. So I am competing with me, myself and almost I. Rodriego wants to try for the part. He tries to be like me more then he realises. The tangled web got infinitely more tangled for me When Rodriego tried to become master.
A web is not like a chain – break as much as you want and a web will still remain. But if I killed the spider… no more web, only a simple triangle again.