The Panorama: Pages

chapter seven: “A Maiden Awakes”

written by T.J. Phoenix

 

 

 

            Things are not as they seem.  But then, when are they ever.  It is closing night.  The closing of a long standing gay nightspot.   It is the Panorama.  Just down from Powell’s in the heart of Portland , Oregon.  A club unlike any other.  And an evening of revelation and discovery.

            Music takes it’s form in many ways...  Touching the deepest aspects of my soul.  I love again unrequited.  I love.. deeply and passionately from the center of my soul.  I love chastely and with reverence and with awe.  He is tender, and he is deep.  He shares the beauty of his heart with the world, and yet seldom realizes the immense treasures of joy that he bestows with his carefree abandon.  His touch is all honor, compassion and friendship... For he... though desiring my body, and our union... touches me not.

            ...and yet, he touches me deeper than these fragile words can pen.  Not with the tangled tongues of physical release, but with the hushed, muted hues of discipline which is his deepest source of honor.  He, like his father, shines in a mastery of purpose and dedication. 

            But he is alone.  He is alone by choice and yet all joyful, mirth sings of the play and sport we have already made together... lightening the hearts of others around us when on that evening we first met.  He is jester... he is mystic.  He is the sweet dreamy reminder of every romantic fantasy a maiden could have.  He is my friend, confidant and he does not know, what he wants.

            He dances outside the doors of my heart... a butterfly on the afternoon breeze.  So beautiful and free in his solitude.  If I were to speak and call his name... he would hear me from this distance.  For honestly, his heart does love me true...  though scarcely knowing the depth of soul healing our friendship makes.

            And so I shall... turn away... and with a kindred cousins blushing glance, press not, that he should so clearly see me.  And what is so plainly on my soul written.  That I could call all the powers of the universe and ally them in his most simple of human desires... I would.  I want what is best and good for me,  and yet inside of this,  my heart is breaking.  Others have loved me well and not been requited.  I expect no less from life in return

            I long to kiss him in the giddy rush of foolish romantic love... but that my mind would listen to sterner reasons.  This is no match for it, and yet I seek it.  I seek him, just the same.   Oh I am tired.  I wish I could lay down and rest.  But I can’t, I can’t.... I must be on the floor.  I must be on my feet.  Always.  Always.  Dancing. 

            Grace looked in the mirror for some outline of the woman she was only two weeks earlier.  Her long blond hair, her long blond hair was gone.  Sacrificed to grieving for her lost innocence.  Not that the loss of innocence was anything new or unexpected.   It still did not lessen the sting of how things were.  Jack...  Jack. 

            It only stands to reason that this overwhelming sorrow will past.  Someday.  Someday.  If I possess the strength to stand.  Grace got up and began to get ready.

 

 

Prelude

Maybe one night

she sat in a garden

and pick flowers

maybe she dreamt by moonlight

that someone special

was about to arrive...

 

...but then he   didn’t

and she was left there

with a small bouquet

of flowers

and a twisted piece

of twine:

There to hold it

all together.

 

...maybe he never heard her

maybe he never saw her at all

and that being the case

maybe it really doesn’t matter

what she hoped for

when those flowers

were picked....

 

She tried to quiet

her mind

but it would not  erase

the solitude...

 

It’s raining now

and the small bouquet

of flowers

lies in isolated glimmers of droplets

which shimmer

with the possibility

of feeling...

...she sits on the steps

with her hands locked

around her knees ...

the rain cleansing:

the sorrow

of waiting.

 

Overwhelm

 

 

Vulnerability

strips away the facade

that would allows us

to be free

 

Everything

that came before us

all our mistakes and glories

are a river of thought

 

...and I hear you...

even the things

that you are afraid to ask

feelings to raw and deep

still looking for

time to shelter their healing.

 

It goes both way

though our actions reflect

a different embrace

with the silvered glass

of wisdom.

 

Stillness...

 

and then there is that place

where all hushes

and I wait

for what to feel

what to hope

what to believe next

breathing in and out

steadied by the sound

of your heartbeat..

 

 

 

Why should I?

 

 

Why should I?

Why should I?

 

...believe a word you say...

 

Because...

She answered softly:

Because I know your name

I can answer all measures

and unto these refrains

 

the message simple

the reason clear

 

I love you...

I love you... dear:

 

Dearly as the sweetest

song you could inspire

Deeply and passionately

with an unquenchable fire...

 

 

Why should I?

Why should I, believe a word you say

you can know me

not this easily

there must be some other way to explain.

 

The only thing that needs explained

is that   I am not playing a game

I have no defense for my presence

in your life, except to say

that the contents of my heart and kingdom

swear fealty to your good name.

 

I love you.

I love you.

And so, you can believe in me.