The Sword of the Unspeakable
Wrote this poemish thing the other night. I was feeling extremely torn. Torn between what/who I love and what I desire. Torn between what I desire and what I want (there IS a difference you know). Torn between what I want and what I need. Torn between meeting my needs and meeting the needs of those things/people I love.
And as I pondered these things and shared them with my wife... I realized one of the most wonderful things about our relationship. We can go there. Where? ANYWHERE. Nothing is off limits. I am so glad for that! We can talk for real. She ain't afraid. No, strike that. She IS afraid. But she goes there anyway. What a woman.
On to the poem!I have also come to realize something that is of equal importance. Something regarding prudence, or temperance... (but none of those descriptions really hit the mark). What I have learned is somewhere here in this poem. Something about the cost of difficult conversations, of revealed desire, of complete transparent honesty. There are risks. There are hurts that will be caused by this... this... this... Sword of the Unspeakable.
The Sword of the Unspeakable
Unspeakable thoughts.
I am not willing to pay the cost.
I will not bear the responsibility,
of making you feel that way.
Prudence? Temperance?
Compassionate bridling is a little closer.
But that is far too innocent a description
if I'm being honest.
My hand burns every time that I touch the hilt of this blade
that was mysteriously placed at my side in the middle of the night.
Something deep inside of me feels compelled to learn its balance.
I want to master this like I have other weapons in the past.
I have wielded this new iron on occasion.
Unsheathed and in my grip, it felt so ... foreign.
It wobbled as I extended my arm.
I could hardly bear the weight.
The thing cuts like a knife, I assure you of that much.
Just look at me. My leg. My arm. My heart.
All nicked by just the tip.
And yet, these wounds simply will not heal.
As a matter of fact, a healthy fear strikes me
when I so much as think of this beast of a sword that is bound to me.
I am scared to hold it for too long. And scared to let it out of my sight.
I've seen, and felt, what it can do.
But a powerful and undeniable fascination is equally at play here.
"My precious!" ... I am entranced and imprisoned by its power.
With even the small amount of understanding I have of THIS blade,
everything else looks like a dull butter knife. And too ... safe.
Despite the fear and the fascination that plague me
Or the fact that hauling this blade around is slowly breaking me ...
The Sword of the Unspeakable will remain here:
Kept on my hip ... and in my heart. For better, or for worse.
And as I pondered these things and shared them with my wife... I realized one of the most wonderful things about our relationship. We can go there. Where? ANYWHERE. Nothing is off limits. I am so glad for that! We can talk for real. She ain't afraid. No, strike that. She IS afraid. But she goes there anyway. What a woman.
On to the poem!I have also come to realize something that is of equal importance. Something regarding prudence, or temperance... (but none of those descriptions really hit the mark). What I have learned is somewhere here in this poem. Something about the cost of difficult conversations, of revealed desire, of complete transparent honesty. There are risks. There are hurts that will be caused by this... this... this... Sword of the Unspeakable.
The Sword of the Unspeakable
Unspeakable thoughts.
I am not willing to pay the cost.
I will not bear the responsibility,
of making you feel that way.
Prudence? Temperance?
Compassionate bridling is a little closer.
But that is far too innocent a description
if I'm being honest.
My hand burns every time that I touch the hilt of this blade
that was mysteriously placed at my side in the middle of the night.
Something deep inside of me feels compelled to learn its balance.
I want to master this like I have other weapons in the past.
I have wielded this new iron on occasion.
Unsheathed and in my grip, it felt so ... foreign.
It wobbled as I extended my arm.
I could hardly bear the weight.
The thing cuts like a knife, I assure you of that much.
Just look at me. My leg. My arm. My heart.
All nicked by just the tip.
And yet, these wounds simply will not heal.
As a matter of fact, a healthy fear strikes me
when I so much as think of this beast of a sword that is bound to me.
I am scared to hold it for too long. And scared to let it out of my sight.
I've seen, and felt, what it can do.
But a powerful and undeniable fascination is equally at play here.
"My precious!" ... I am entranced and imprisoned by its power.
With even the small amount of understanding I have of THIS blade,
everything else looks like a dull butter knife. And too ... safe.
Despite the fear and the fascination that plague me
Or the fact that hauling this blade around is slowly breaking me ...
The Sword of the Unspeakable will remain here:
Kept on my hip ... and in my heart. For better, or for worse.
posted by Miroslav at 3:00 PM
8 Comments:
You amaze me..the depths. Wow!
Okay, trying to show us all up! No, seriously, great poem. I must admit that my brain is not usually working so well in the middle of the night. Yes our words and thoughts can be very dangerous and we often don't know the power of them. But in the reverse they are often healing and life giving...
Keep on writing maybe you have a new career in front of you.
"The power of life and death are in the tongue...and those who love it will eat of its fruit."
Proverbs (somewhere)
Auntie Lamb and Woman of Faith,
You are both too kind. (but I won't discourage you... hehe...) Thank you for the loving words.
Anonymous,
'tis true, 'tis true.
Interestingly Tolkien said that he had not conceived of the Lord of the Rings until The Hobbit was written. The ring became the connection at that point in the mind of Tolkien.
Here is my poem on what I think about the film. link
Oh I forgot. I was going to remind you of Solomon who tried many things (swords)including strong drink, and with his mind still guiding him with wisdom. It was all "chasing after the wind" except as Solomon concluded: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.
Great job with the poetry Miroslav, I should have said that to begin with!
Mr. D
Mr. D,
Yikes... I guess you didn't like the film too much! You've got some strong words there for poor old Hollywood. (poor? ok, maybe not).
Thank you for your kind words re: my poetic works. I find that they are quite impulsive. I write them when I feel them... and how they come out is how they stay. I rarely 'edit' them for more than an hour or so. I've read some really great poetry recently and realize that if I want to take it up to the next level, I need to approach it on a more serious level and give the pieces some time to sit, and perculate a bit... I think coming back to them later with 'fresh eyes' will allow me to fine tune the craft a bit.
um... where was I?
Oh yes... Solomon. Ecclisiastes has always been (and still is) my favorite book in the ol' B-I-B-L-E.
First, you have an amazing wife, filled with respect for you, and a beautifully calm and smiling heart. Praise God for her, you've obtained favor from the Lord-Prov. 18:22. Secondly, amazing poem, I'm impressed at your writing-you've got "skills" as my other half would quote. Thirdly, regarding your poem, whew, someone close told me some brute honesty a couple days ago and it cut to my heart like a deep wound, I feel breathless. Don't know if it's the best thing in the worst timing. Prov. 17:27 He who has knowledge spares his words, and a man of understanding is of a calm spirit and my personal one-even a fool is counted wise when he holds his peace;when he shuts his lips, he is considered perceptive. I get myself in so much trouble with my tongue, that's why I'd rather say God's word, even in an arguement, better His words than the ones I've wanted to say/have said. Great poem, wonderful wife!
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