Love Killed No-one

I have a friend. A friend of mine. The kind who is always as drunk with words as I am. In his inquisitions and musings on life, he one day told me this;

"Morris, love killed no one - it never has,

It stole no-one's castle nor took no-one's child,

It did nothing but love,

It only loved.

That's all we blame it for: that love loves..."

"Morris, love never raided your heart - it never has,

It never matched against your wildest dreams,

Nor took away your boldest stances,

Nor imbibed you in its wings...

Oh yeah, now you think it did, huh?

You now blame it for stealing you away, huh?

It never did.

It just stared as you paced it through the dusty paths of desire,

And pitied you when you fell down to worship it;

And when you stared with angst, didn't it warn you not to awaken it?"

"But now you blame for all it has done;

You *sic* blame it for all things done to the hearts of men and women..."

"Love killed no-one,

And if it has been thought to,

Or if it has ever been wanted to be thought that it has,

It was only following its charmer,

For love loves no challenges,

And its charade is a mighty conqueror,

It doesn't steal, it cannot be stolen, but it can be seduced..."

"Yeah, I agree, people have died in the name of love,

Some were fighting for it

Some were fighting it

Some were fighting in it

Some were drunk with it: the muddle being their end

Some were thirsting for it

Some were reaching out for it

Some were hopeful to find it...

Some were finding it

Some didn't even know what they felt -

All in the name of love"

"But love never killed them

It never did

They all died and were buried; and we clutch at their stories with embroidered hearts,

But, yeah, but love took no sword, nor dagger, nor gun to shoot at any of them

It never said, 'Kill them all!!'

You may say it did, but my friend, who witnessed it?"

"So when men and women die,

When they die for love, or in the name of love,

They only seem to die for the other person,

Or for themselves;

Because somewhere love stares and wonders, "Did I really kill them?"

And it holds its stick - its walking stick (because it has become old and frailly of late)

And moves on to see and hear what others have to say...

Only to find the same old accusations in the next lot of peeple..."

"Peeple!", head tilted on walking stick, it softly wonders, "they never understand!".

Bonface Morris.

I Can Feel the Fireworks

I can feel the fireworks.

I can feel the fireworks like a lass feels when dipping her little hand in a cookie jar.

Like I feel when staring at waterfalls

Have you ever watched waterfalls falling? Right, I can feel it, and I feel it that way...

I can feel them staring at me, the fireworks.

I can feel them like I feel about free, fast wireless internet.

I can feel myself being "stupified" because of the wondrous enigma they carry.

I can feel it, err, them - the fireworks.

I can feel them stealing the very air we share as we hold this moment.

But, are we really sharing this moment? The fireworks? Because I am not sure if you love fireworks, leave alone staring at them...

See? I don't have your hand in mine, neither do you, but you know what? I can still feel us holding each other,

And I am prompted to think that that's what fireworks do to people, to people like us,  

People who come to stare at them...

I can feel them goofy and raffled.

I can feel them old and scanty.

I can feel them fluffy and real.

I can feel the fireworks like a monk feels when a wedding suffices or like a bird in a zoo. Do you love zoos? Never mind. I can feel them anyway.

I can feel them and their mockery and treachery.

Their mouths are hungry for my blood and their hands want my heart

So as I feel them, my blood runs in the inside of me. Raging. Surging. Pumping.

Only that it doesn't run away...

I can feel how stupid I have become because of the fireworks.

I can feel it. It is true.

I can feel the bluntness they weed in us as we watch them.

Reddish, yellowish, blueish, greenish thingys. I can feel those colors speaking to me.

Can you feel them too? Like I do?

I can see you by my side staring at them

Maybe you feel them like I do, maybe not...

But I love the way you stretch your neck to look at them - your beautiful neck. Has someone ever told you that you have a beautiful neck? Okay, never mind. You have it anyway.

I love the tweak on your mouth and the hidden wonder riding in your eyes.

I love this moment, this moment when I can enjoy two things at the same time: the fireworks and you.

But again I hate it when I look at you, at us, staring at them yet doing nothing, saying nothing

I would have wished that you say something. Anything.  

But I love these tiny moments we "share" just staring at these reddish, yellowish, blueish, greenish thingys.

I only hope you feel them too...

I can feel that we are so distant even though we exist in the same world happily "sharing" the same moments.

I can feel it just like I feel the fireworks.

I can feel that I am feeling warm even though I'm not wearing a jacket, and that you are feeling cold regardless of that fur pullover you have on you.

I can feel it.

I can feel our closeness and the distance between us

And that makes me feel the fireworks even more.

I am now lovehatric and desperate, and because of that, I have decided to enjoy the fireworks and [somehow] forget about you...

I now feel the fireworks even the more...

Bonface Morris.  

What Happened?

What happened to you?

What happened to your countenance?

What happened to your profile of courage and boldness?

What happened to your lilies in the garden and to the fire in your parlour?

Huh? What happened?

What happened to you?

What happened to your cracks of laughter?

What happened to your life of hope and enthusiasm?

What happened to your loving gestures of care and tenderness?

What happened to your arms of love and to your head held up high?

Huh? What happened?

What happened to you?

What happened to your life?

What happened to your walk of style?

What happened to your self-drive and self-assurance?

What happened to your peaceable mode and humble conduct?

What happened to the flags of white with stripes of green?

Huh? What happened?

I know the world has not time to garden flowers

And I know that it has no understanding of beauty and flowers

I know that the world is a monster of a kind

And that it knows no mercy or mankind

But you should not become a shadow of yourself

That is not you my friend

You should not become an example of yourself

That is not what you are my friend

Your wings can still fly even though they’ve grown weak

You can still jump even if your limbs feel like a flick

You still can become you

I used to admire you my friend

Please don’t give up on you

I’ll be waiting for you...

Sincerely,

Your friend Morris.