>Under Attack
D. J. Hall (April 2007)
Sense of self-expression, thoughts and ideas.
Picked apart, scoffed at, rejected.
She allows herself to be neglected.
Their conversation turns to debate.
A simple question raises provocation.
Divorced, displanted.
New man. Strange love
Now taken for granted.
Her life made a mockery, daily rebuke feels like puke.
She knows keeping her down raises him up.
Children grown and away. Now time to play.Accept no longer this mourning, this hunger.
Past Tension
D.J. Hall
The Past is a root that spreads, swelling between us.
A source for constant state of upheaval.
Mistakes, deception and cruelty are a sickness.
The smallest faults expand, proliferate.
The Past is unwilling to forgive or obliterate.
Two souls of different spirit, psyche, strength.
Attempt to move forward together
Continual to struggle.
Where is my spine? Where is his heart?
His thoughts are so deep
They are drowning me.
His philosophy is so stoic
It smothers me.
His systematized style is so uptight
It stifles me.
He says
I should be more
Frugal. Fluent.
Intellectual. Prudent.
He says
I should be less
Generous. Scattered.
Passionate. Stupid.
Instead, I am
Confused. Convictionless.
Uncertain. Unwilling
To change.
The Past, in its wary way,
Is a destroyer of destiny.
Creating dreams only to be demolished.
Our Past eliminates Our Future.
>His View
D. J. Hall (November 2007)
His thoughts are so deep
They are drowning me.
His philosophy is so stoic
It smothers me.
His systemitized style is so uptight
It stifles me.
He says
I should be more
Frugal
Fluent
Intellectual
Prudent.
He says
I should be less
Generous
Scattered
Passionate
Stupid.
Instead, I am
Confused
Convictionless
Uncertain
Unwilling
To change.
A brief poem using the word LINE.
His inflexible line of sight
Visualized an unobstructed horizon
Which held a tender morsel
A bee line was made
To that sweet one.
Knowing she drew outside the lines
His line of duty was relentless.
Forcing her to toe the line
In order to stay in line!
The lines of demarcation blurred
When he crossed the line
That proverbial boundary breached
Partioning their affection.
Divided they fell.
A strict line item veto yet again
Of her offer of unlimited lifetime
Credit line of love.
Became promptly past due…
Debtors prison for him.
The tempest gained strength
As the squall line screamed
Bloody Hell!
>The Past wavers between us causing a constant state of upheaval.
Mistakes, deception and miscommunications are a sickness.
Minute, minimal or moderate errors never obliterated.
The Past is unwilling to be forgotten.
Unable to be forgiven.
Two souls of different spirit, psyche and strength.
Attempting to move forward together will continually struggle.
Where is my spine?
Where is his heart?
The Past, in its wary way,
Is a destroyer of destiny.
Creating dreams only to be demolished.
The Past eliminates the Future.
The Future is so easily forgotten.
When fate is fixed.
Ah, but The Present remains my focus.
As I am habitually stuck in limbo.
D.J. Hall
January 2008
>Silent Longing
D. J. Hall
I have become a master at veiling unanswered questions festering deep within my psyche. Thoughts and feelings I ignore during the day can only be squelched fo so long. But, those ignored emotions thrive in the middle of the night and I am tormented by my inner fears and the injustices of which I try to understand. The many questions I try to solve, become completely overwhelming in the course of a dark, silent room in the middle of the night. Or perhaps they are more overwhelming in the light of day, which is why the mind shuts down innocently enough, like a life preserver protecting you from the onslaught of waves, allowing one to climb out of that warm bed each morning. If one allowed the multitude of thoughts, if one felt the pain and worry during the day as intensely as one feels them during the night, perhaps the day would never start at all.
My thoughts are the generic worries which everyone has. But always under the surface is the reoccurring question and concern I have about my partner. This man who has all the characteristics I always wanted, and whom I hold in high regard. This man of wit, moral strength and intelligence. This man who emanates masculinity, and for whom upon meeting, felt mutual sexual attraction to. This man is the only man I have loved to the deepest core of my being and will never stop. This man who has not touched me for over two years.
In the middle of the night, awoken by that familiar stirring, aroused by an erotic dream of my own sexuality and the unmet craving I have for him, I lay awake in silent longing, needing to touch him but unable to reach out. How do I live up to the air brushed images he frequently entertains himself with? Why does he choose to replace a loving and intimate relationship with this damaging diversion? Maybe for the same reason he likes to watch sports that he does not play, living vicariously through what he sees. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, watch. I have gone through such an agony of emotions starting with disbelief and denial to the most ridiculous thoughts of blaming myself. The painful process of grieving a loss of an exquisite intimacy has turned into a quiet numbing anger. I love him greatly and am confident in his sincere love for me. Our love is strong and we are inexplicably bonded. We enjoy each other’s company, quiet movie nights, cooking exceptional meals together and reading in bed. We have built a life together, he has been my friend, my confidante, and sadly, too long ago my lover. He continues to talk about our future while I live in transition, waffling between holding onto the dream of a healthy intimate relationship together or starting over as a single woman of 49. I try not to think about his sexual anorexia. Until the middle of the night.
Writesandwrongs 
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