Trying Again (After An Argument With My Wife) Poem by Bernhard Emil Bruhnke III
Trying Again (After An Argument With My Wife)
What matters is that it happens.
That air shivers memory;
a clandestine proclamation of returns and free exits.
The caveat of ring-less circles that forward to every pagan past.
What is future than where we are... Infinite/indefinite
This and this and this and this.
It is my cacophony of lidded atriums. (Incalculable lights, wound in the breast of night)
Yet I am grateful for the sounds of long ended silence,
slammed doors, and the bitterest of wines without her voice carrying laughter behind it.
The windsail of every great man's eternities.
Men know this echo we breathe together.
Wanting every salivating wisp of anger, fear, and undeniable exhale of unworthiness.
She is better than me.
Thank you for that.
It is but the reason we breathe but to tell the breath its meaning...And for it to breathe again and reprimand our rigorous error. Your bribery to be the answer of fools.
Fools...be grateful.
This, the profound ash we carry the cherry red ending for.
Burn slowly and wait for the significant gasp of smoke.
It is always here.
Know it.... and give her your favorite name.
May this reinvent me to you.
Know always that with me there is so much to say and lose and find and misinterpret and praise and fear and shed unending sorrows for.
My love, know always that love is unworthy to me. I am a shamed soul at the gates of a leprocitic Jerusalem. Begging for your answers.
Words are my frailty and my envy.
As I have said to you in countless lifetimes that live in the stars between our bodies.
There is so much that is lost between the voice and the soul.
Yet I will love you in my every failure.
This isn't really that good, and it is more than a writing exercise than anything. I want to get back into my writing again and try to reconnect with a voice that I hope to every god in the book that I have not lost. My wife and I got in an argument and didn't speak for the rest of the night. I sat up really just contemplating what in the hell we were arguing about, and ultimately realizing that it was foolish. I was just happy that I was able to argue with her and be able to be unrelenting and completely honest with her without fear of retribution, and I always hope the same for her. May sound strange, but I find peace in sometimes almost brutal honesty.
In regards to the poem (if I can call it that because who the hell am I to call myself a poet) I find it interesting at first, then it gets a bit mush at the end in my opinion. But I was just happy to write something again without over-thinking or making some b.s. reason not to write.
Comments are welcome. Be honest. Be vicious if necessary. Or completely ignore. Either way, I'm happy to write.
oh..I'm also sure that 'leprocitic' is not a word, but couldn't think of a better adjective. Again, unedited writing exercise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 3:59:34 AM # 1.0.0.1119
a pale collection of emptiness You should post it I still think it is one of the best things you have ever written.