The Cave

I am an old man, because I have lived a lot. I have fought years, lived on love for years, lived on money for years and my constitution. I have been old now for years.

My view is one of rest. I am sitting on a high, in grass covered plain with in front of me a steep abyss. underneath rocks. The sea climbs my rock, finds it to steep, falls back and tries again. The rest of sea stretches in front of my until infinity and waits years for its turn.

The grass under my hands feels cool and a gale moves my long hairs. If I look up I see unknowing clouds float by. They are hurrying in the same direction. My back is that direction. A few ships are searching floatingly for fish. I myself worked on such ships and mis the people that used to work with me. I am sitting her alone because the sea is not always quiet . I am sitting alone here because I was lucky. Loneliness due to luck. Loneliness due to actions. Loneliness due to loneliness .

Hours I can sit here watching out over my girlfriend, my mistress and my sometimes enemy. If the sun caresses her in the morning she is beckoning, and I enjoy her beauty. If the wind is strong and jells at her, she screams back and covers herself with a blanket of waves and fogs of water over her skin. If it is dark, she is dark and then she ogles me sometimes with her lit up breakers.

I miss her, but hate her. The jealous sea did not only take my friends, but also my biggest love. Her I miss more. I am an old man, because I lived a lot, but now I looking back for many years. I am old for years. I am alone for years.

Nightfall slowly comes because the sun is putting itself out in the sea that looks at me quietly. I am now looking in the direction of the the clouds. My hair folds itself around my face and I walk to my house. A house that is located behind this plain in a slightly lower valley and I have lived there always.

Here I have spend my years.

There used to be my parents and brothers and my sister. Later, then to young for the sea, with my mother and my sister. After tat with my sister. Then alone.

I miss the evenings when I was no longer alone, talking about all things we could think of, looking at each other in silent moments. The laying against each other, the kissing and the deep moments of becoming one, somtimes for nights. If then the sun would come up and she would be in deep rest, I would look at her and my view was one of rest. Moments of peace. Moments of being together. Moments of complementation. I was not always lonely.

Broodingly I light the fire and prepare myself a meal. The night around me is a dark blanket and covers the light. The wind picks up slowly and softly it starts to rain.

It is disconsolate, eating for yourself.

Marco
(12 aug 1992)

Yesterday was not my day. Then I sat in the night in between nothing. The stars bleached my skin. The holes between that light were barriers and were silent. The observation of the view, a look upward, was just one of silence. No wind, no sound, no feelings and everything is crawling slowly to no destination. This day is only a night.

Yesterday was not my day. The missing of that what animates me is difficult, it locks you up. You know what you should do, but the effort is to large. These thoughts are but little bubbles that explode in once head. Plop, plop…

Yesterday will never be my day. I know what will happen, everything will become different, everything changes. How fast does the grass grow when you know that. If only there was never a yesterday, but just a today. On that day I live often and wonder around some. I watch the animals, the people and feel their presence. I watch the trees, the bushes and the crawling in between, but never the grass.

I watch the sky which is blue now with white holes, holes in which you can look deeply, they make noises and talk with me. Today is during the day. The light feeds you, but unfortunately  also the grass.

Tomorrow I never know. I think that tomorrow is a kind of today, only longer. Maybe you are watched there and one has peace with it. Maybe one is in the sky and making noises. It has been silent for a long time. I would like to experience tomorrow. One is not as silent as yesterday, maybe one is not wandering, but everywhere at the same time. I would like to experience tomorrow, even if it just to forget yesterday.

These thoughts feed me more than the sun whose is beaming between white holes and screams with rays. From one point he screams. Yesterday he was not screaming. How else could it be. Yesterday there was to much grass. The grass that wriggles in that what it calls wind, an allay today. Yesterday is an enemy. But that he always was. Yesterday is a night.

Marco
(04 aug 1992)