713 Butterfly [12 June 2005]

In my life I have searched for something.
The thing, the idea beyond words
that kept my heart from dying.
I never knew what it was until now.
It is the unmistakable emotion,
drowning one in its pristine silver waters,
encompassing the soul in its promise.
Whether I search for it still, or not,
this I cannot say and perhaps never will.
I give up easily, deciding that if it is to be,
it will invariably come to me of its own will.
In my past I have chased it,
followed the heart’s erratic path,
flitting about on the wings of a butterfly.
One red and indigo, briefly landing,
only to fly off once more.
If only it would land and stay,
embraced in the silken folds of the net
belonging to someone who wished to capture it,
to hold it close to their own heart.
Those it followed never stayed,
watching with fascination at its movement,
turning away in the end,
perhaps touched, perhaps amused
by its inexperienced flight.
Sometimes I can forget this pain.
Ignore the longing that renders my heart in two,
but never forever can it do so completely.
I often wonder what it would feel like
to be on the receiving end of the care
I offer freely to those who merely passed by,
to ensconce my self in that person’s life,
surrounded by their tender attentions
aimed to keep me for their own.
What would that feel like?
To open my eyes one morning,
rain pattering steadily outside,
the gray infusing the early hours
with a strange enchanted aura
as I would turn to find him there.
If this dream is but a futile effort,
then let me sleep on.
Let the butterfly fly on until its colors fade
darkening into the ending that is of life.
Or better yet, never let it leave its cocoon,
let it fester there, harboring and concealing,
all the pain that would remain unnoticed,
if it is allowed to survive.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

712 Shy [11 June 2005]

Caught in a world of quiet looks, forbidden glances,
we revolve around one another in loud silence.
Wondering as we go the thoughts of the other,
whether at night one thinks of the other,
or if fantasies locked away include each other.
We talk of many things safe and comfortable.
What we would give to have our real voices speak out?
And should our voices be heard, would fear intrude?
A never-ending merry-go-round that will never end.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

711 They Would Converge One Day [31 May 2005]

It was then that her heart broke.
For within his fiery gaze and virile features
lay the soul of a man,
a man who had seen death and sorrow.
Her heart broke because she could not touch it,
because she could not touch him
to save the boy who hid within.
Embrace him in her arms,
comfort him with the knowledge
that while she may not understand,
she didn’t need that to love him.

She continued to watch his path
with one eye constantly seeing,
while the other remained on her own
One day she knew that the two would converge,
that she might stare into his eyes
to see his truths hidden there.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

710 Revelation [30 May 2005]

And it is only today
that my secret is revealed.
Hidden even from my searching gaze
was the truth that would save and had saved me.
For it was he who I have sought
since I remember not.
It was his voice I yearned to hear,
his heart I longed to know,
his soul I desired to feel.

There have been many in my past
who I had deemed as him,
but in the end they were false.
It had been only he whom I needed.
All else have been poor imitations
that served only to pain me,
break my heart and bring me down.
Perhaps that is why I find him now,
only when my heart was shredded
could I then recognize his true shape.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

709 Damn It All [30 May 2005]

Damn hope.
Damn it for causing my heart to beat.
Damn it for the ‘probably’ that crosses my mind.
Damn it for the blossom of emotion
when someone looks my way.
Damn my heart for believing that
what it desperately desires is at all reachable.
Damn it for yearning, caring.
Damn this pain, this emptiness that courses through my chest.
Damn his voice for causing my heart to skip a beat.
Damn it all, so I can be unfeeling,
unknowing of despair or desire.
Damn God because supposedly he made me this way.
Damn me for feeling anything at all,
for fearing dreams that bring hope,
in the shape of he who might be.
Damn me for not hating he who
never wishes to hear my name again.
Damn his music which gives me hope,
which keeps me breathing, living.
Damn life so that tomorrow
I may never wake.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

708 For the Promise of Him [29 May 2005]

I am an arrow that has strayed
far from the point of launch,
the target beyond my flight.
The way blurred,
I continually seek that
which I have sought for years.
Tempered by time,
my teenage bonfire is now a burning ember,
glowing strong.

I have sought him for so long that
I feel as if I will never find him.
I often wonder if Fate laughs at me,
at my attempt to aim for love,
to find it for my own.
It must constantly roar with amusement
at my failed attempts to seek him
in others who I see him in.
Only I turn around to see with eyes open wide
That they were truly façades
Covering a deeper inconsistent that
Assures me they are not he.
The last one killed me.
He kills me still.

When will his true form find me?
Or shall my heart be right
That this time I will find no one?
Forever remaining as I am,
dying a little each day that
I cannot find his true shape.
Perhaps that is why I seek a life
In a country that calls my name
with the sound of his music.
To chase after a voice that
awakened something within,
that has kept me moving,
though my body breaks down
a little more each day.

“I’m falling down again and
no one is here to save my soul.”
He has become my heart, my soul,
and I reach farther
trying to touch his light,
certain it will fill me with life,
will restore these bones that have weakened.
Thus my goal is established,
thus my waning strength is shored up
by the embrace of he who I have not touched.
but who has touched me.
It is the promise that keeps me going.
The promise of seeing his eyes,
those deep fathomless eyes,
with mine own and nothing
between us but song.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

707 Heart’s Home [24 May 2005]

I glimpse the glittering dawn,
another night ends where dreams give me no solace.
The will to live is strong,
however desperate my heart is.
I have faced many lonely mornings
knowing that although I breathe
my heart dies further.
It was meant to devote itself
to one and only one, not suffer in silence
as those reject what it offered.
As I wander, it wonders when, if ever,
a home it will find among
the golden days of this life I live.
Realizing in the end that it shall remain
as it always has,
forever seeking, forever yearning.
Forever lost.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

706 Unspoken [03 May 2005]

His glances cause an emptiness
to flutter its wings in the cavern of my chest.
It’s a strange occurrence,
one I don’t necessarily mind,
that causes a storm to brew
in the valleys of my being.
A terrible forbidden emotion
flaring in this heart of mine,
unbidden, unwanted, yet desperately desired.
In his presence I am comforted,
when I didn’t know I needed it.
Beyond the two confessions I have made already,
not a word to him from these lips will be spoken.
The more that I speak will make it
that much harder to watch him go.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

705 Insomnia [02 May 2005]

Morning comes too soon for the midnight meanderer,
its fingers of pale light creep across the horizon,
chasing quiet night to its slumber
as day is awoken to take over.
The mallards of dawn arise to take their place
on the banks of the tireless river
ever changing, ever wakeful.
The solitude of the early hours is broken,
the first song of morning breaks the silence
as mournful night gives way to joyous day
just as despair must give way to contentment.
If only could every change of emotion be this way.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017

704 Broken [02 May 2005]

It grasps at the edge of my consciousness
as do the gray tendrils of dawn
at the fragments of night.
Broken, I lay here,
untended, unknown.
Once was I whole,
once did I dance,
but I am held down now
by cold iron change
biting into tender wounds.
Thus bound and gagged,
none shall hear my cry,
none will save me from this despair.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017