In the company of his own fellowship

A coldness impales the male persona

As he stands in a barren winter field

Where the rapidly shifting wind throws his

Chilled stiff body into nothingness.

He stands trying to conceal his shiver.

Above the infinite eye of the night

Glares down upon the stupid smallness

Of his existence, reminding him

That millions have died in war, all of whom

Have been embedded into the cold ice

Of this winter night. Masculinity

Searches through the shards of life left living

Harnessing the urges of the carnivore

That kill kill kill with the same raw hands

That make firm handshake contact wi zeal

And that tenderly touch the ladies.

From this austere and enraged body

A serene exterior world is created

That is worn hard with wounds, and that laughs off

The pathetic sentimentality

Of the human tear—never to be known

The inner yearning of the hopeful boy

Who, unlike the girl, is likely to be

Showered with the lush gush of mother’s love.

It is with the eagerness of this child,

That the man runs for shelter from himself

In the shapely form of the loved one’s sex

Its warm womb waits for a procreation

Beckoning for the inner vacancy.

The creases in his face tense with pursuit

As each encounter is entered upon

With the dream of a warmer existence.

And from his isolation he looks down

Into the wonderland of bliss and happiness

Where the beckoning of loud trumpeters

Brings him to a picaresque village

Where children parade the streets with batons

Emitting colors that enhance dimension

Joined by music that captures the air.

The energy of youth is amassed into

Vibrant expressions that spreads love

As if love alone envelops existence.

And so the man attempts to realize his dream

Pushing his lips into some unknown world,

Overpowering resistance that is faced,

And sucking the marrow into possession

As he prays his work is competent.

This tastelessness emerges from male needs

That form the foundation of any

Declaration of unpredictable love.

Which upon being uttered, bitterly wounds

The omnipotence of his apathy

That has weathered the female’s rejection.

Burning red is this bitter rejection

Which throbs with the capillaries

Containing the scarred qualities of a burn

And the whistling fervor of a kettle,

Creating rash and crazy disorder

Like the urgent removal of a sweater.

The heat of male rage flows like static

Through society’s institutions

Bearing aggression that hurts others

But purifies power, enabling

Him to exhibit the mental cleanliness

That maintains his inner captivity.

Undetectable spirits randomly

Scatter and convene like a pack of flies

Within his rotting soul, swindling him

Out of his holism, haunting him

As if they were the damn economy

Haphazardly groping in the dark night.

What would it do to the hurting male heart

To brave new worlds of vulnerability?

The male could dismiss his violent past

And improve his intimate adeptness

Involving himself in child rearing

And nurturing the household with concern,

What would it be like to embrace a love

Beyond the selfish need of sexual urge,

To feel its presence out in the night air

As an anonymous voice possessing

The intimate concern that makes it so

Beautiful, desirable, and loving?

Let the male heart absorb the full spectrum

Of the human experience! Make him

Capable of actualizing his

Internal independent uniqueness.

Let us all enter the night with love’s grace

An yearn for nothing but what lies within

The post The Male Heart appeared first on Redefining "Psychosis".

Hiking these stone spattered mountains alone,

Do the true utterances I might speak

Make the barren field of my heart full sown?

Pondering the breadth of the love I don’t own

I ascend to another lonesome peak

Hiking these stone spattered mountains alone.

Please loosen your fetter on fruits unknown.

Let the seed of your humanity leak!

Make the barren field of my heart full sown.

Yearning for a kiss in this misty zone

I feel so much need in this weary physique

Hiking these stone spattered mountains alone.

Are you the essence I’ll never own?

But oh to share a tear would, with streaked cheek,

Make the barren field of my heart full sown.

Barren it is to hear my lonely tone:

To speak and speak about the love that I seek

Hiking these stone spattered mountains alone.

Oh, make the barren field of my heart full sown!

The post Talking to Intimacy appeared first on Redefining "Psychosis".