Crossroads Part 1

Walking along together with the sun shining down from above, the path's ascent and descent constantly changing grade but always moving forward. Days, weeks, months and years we traveled on through darkest forest canopies and flowering open meadows, over cold city streets and hot pavement, along cool ocean sands and heated breezes all mediated to a constant pleasing warmth. Our hands constantly clutched together as we traversed the world we knew and came to call our own. We walked together and that made the journey unforgettable.

As the Earth's rotation accelerated and the clouds and rain began to spin around about our heads, the road grew more and more difficult to see through the darkening mist. I closed my tearing eyes hoping with my aching heart that the air would clear and our sun would shine as brilliantly as before. I felt your fingers slipping through mine and I felt the over-moistened air pouring through my nostrils and choking me from within. The tempest grew and I had to steady myself against the rush of the wind, with my hands now apart from yours I tried to shield my face against the fierce spikes of water. I drifted off blindly, your proximity to me uncertain though I knew you must be close by.

At long last the storm abated yet I feared to open my eyes. Perhaps the world we had known had been changed forever by the force of nature, the new order of things. My hands were shaking, my head dizzy and my heart felt like it might explode out of my chest but I knew I needed to open my eyes to surmise what had become of the path we once so contentedly walked.  It was then that I saw a split, two roads diverging, both shrouded in the lingering clouds. I could not see you. Never before had I felt such a heaviness on my body, my brain. For here I was at a crossroads and shaken to my very deepest soul as I felt my feet carry me along one pathway and through the gradually lifting cloud I saw you heading down the other.

© 2012 Paul Caracciolo. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.

All It Did Saturday Was Rain

Odds and over and over,

repeating the docile sounds of a translucently lonely heart,

a soul bound immovably so,
and so on and so on and thus so

Aloud to the vapor,

speaking volumes of transcendent nothingness,

perhaps to disappear less swiftly,

postpone the progress of vanishing atoms

Eradicate the stern stained-glass symbolism of those holier than thou,

thou shalt return to the soil at a tempered pace,

fertilizing only as thou tires of thyself,

the companionship straining, conversation waning

Scabs form faster now,

limbs weakened but mouth and tongue fail not,

as loosened locks glide past the eyes,
slipping to a whisper then

Listen!

Alternating chronically arid or phlegmy,

coughing constantly either way,

Say, "I believe in the wash,

ivory linen, bleached bones, spring's teardrops

Saliva licking down upon my upturned face,

all is awash, alive, purified,

dreams within dreams,

along sleep-time and wake-hours

Rapid eye movements shut out the ultraviolet rays
as well as moonbeams,

see me through,

envision a vision, a miracle's miracle

I'm waiting, alas I am waiting"

Standing rigidly alone,

the words reverberating through the surrounding hollowness,

and on and on,

a long pause,

Only the sparse hair and cuticles continue to grow,

lengthening with the new-found silence,
over and over

and ends....

© 2012 Paul Caracciolo. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.

In flight (for Johnnie)

This piece was originally written a while ago but revised and dedicated to my dear friend Johnny at his memorial last year after he passed away at far too young an age. Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of his death but it is his life and laughter and the brightness that he brought to this world that I will always remember. I can think of no more appropriate way to rededicate myself to posting on this blog.

In flight (for Johnnie)

As I embark on this journey, I am both excited and fearful. My life will never be quite the same. My youth departs with each passing mile as I travel back in time yet ahead in historical depth. In flight on a search for the genuine origin of the blood that courses through my veins, the contours of my face, the hue of my skin.

As I gaze outward, the clouds seem deeper and ancient, cloaking this long distant piece of me. I am humbled yet my senses tingle, awakened by the rays of the refracted sunlight, twirling arms and legs of gold upon the gauzy pillows. My dark brown eyes are open as never before and my heart aches to glimpse what lies beneath the atmospheric dance.

There is indeed an innate comfort in all of this. I have always been keenly aware that I belong here. My pride, emotion, love and desire derive from this time-worn but blessed landscape. Before it appears beneath the departing sky, I merely mourn the loss of my youthful illusions, naivete and anxiety. It clears and then my eyes are truly open. For I am thrilled, thrilled quite simply to finally be home again.

© 2012 Paul Caracciolo. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.