More Inclined
The more I loved,
The less inclined I was to love.
Once I loved with deep, consuming passion
And upon a time it was very good.
It sustained me,
It held me up and carried me on
In sure belief that it would last forever.
I could not see beyond its ending,
But ending was its fate.
The more I looked,
The less inclined I was to see.
Fixing on things that quivered and quaked,
Heat-shimmering on a desert road,
I looked for signs to lead me on
But only served deception’s trickery
To lead astray and confound the path
I travelled on my way.
I could not see beyond the mirage
To vanish was Its fate.
The more I sought,
The less inclined I was to seek.
I wanted answers yet uncovered naught
But lies and cruel misdirection.
I sought for beauty, truth, or perfect form
But found them twisted and grotesque,
A mockery of their nature
Tasting of but ashes
And desiccated dust.
In seeking lay despair.
The more I longed,
The less inclined I was to long.
I longed for justice and an equity
In temporal affairs.
I longed for quiet waters
To float and paddle feet and hands
And drift a while.
But currents took hold and cruel rocks
Confounded hopes for gentle passage.
I longed for longing to end.
The more I loved,
The less inclined I was to love.
The cruellest of broken promises
Are those pronounced in passion’s heat,
Avowed and so betrayed.
Who could foresee where love might lead?
A winding path that shone ahead
But fraught with many hidden curves
Foretelling darkened endings.
Love beckons, yet conceals evil secrets
And darkened endings,
Betraying those who fall into its trap.
And yet ,,,
The more I write,
The more inclined I am to write.
Herein is the panacea to all those other longings,
The means to right those other wrongs
That deny me of my love
That blinds me of my sight
That steals from me the will to search
That robs me of my longing.
If I can express those failings of desire
Perhaps I can surmount my faulty will
To overcome.
In writing is the remedy
To all those bitter excesses
Of “More”.
Palimpsest 
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