History Lost

My story is not different. 

It tells of the same subtlties, the same nuances, that will get scraped under the rug of human histories, through attempted portrayals told. 

What may be lost, may be lost forever, 

With one, but "this" voice, 

To attempt a stories tale. 

What is in the tale, 

Is the subtlety and nuance of what will always remain to be said, 

And the screams of it's truths, toiling a surface below. 

The purpose, I fear, will be lost, 

If the subtlties, the nuances 

Get lost as well. 

Who was she? 

Who was she really? 

We are not what our Fathers make of us, nor relations or teachers alike. 

We are, much deeper. 

And that deep resides in our nuances- tales perhaps, only we can tell. 

And well, I have a great many thing to tell, but I suspect, they will lay captured in the fruits of my head, never to see daylight, 

And with them, so do I perish only partially. 

It is the tale that will never be told. 

The silences. The underscores. The mirror between her and God...

And the worlds-

The doorway of her mind, now shut. 

The observations scattered without catalogue as she races to get to the punch line. The bottomless pit, of her heart. 

There are things, that even should I write, might never be known;The nuances breathing time past her, while she stayed still watching the universe spiral without. 

It is a story that will likely die, with me. 

Like too many a men, that had divine undercurrent, but vesseled without witness, except as their own. 

And sometimes our story does die with us...

But it doesn't hurt, trying to write it, along the way. Attempting to capsulize the nuances, 

Of what it has meant, 

To be me. To live....THIS life. To make sense of it. To nurture myself through, and to comprehend for me, what no man wilt. 

Why? 

Why? 

Just that question: why? 

Do we Be? 

And why do we ponder it? 

And why do we suffer our live's liberty at the hands of others most days? 

Why? 

Why wouldn't I think about this? 

Why, 

Would I? 

Perhaps if nothing else, 

To preserve the nuances, 

Of who I used to be. 

Who am I? 

If not these? 

What is Essense and purpose, if not these? 

These nuances. 

That will go on, as the body, 

Of man's story.