Chasing Pangaea - introduction

Since the year two thousand and fourteen,

The words have fallen like a soothing rain;

Sexy, scary, sometimes saccharine;

 

As if writ in blood from out my vein

The poet's passion bears no mark unique,

And quill's my sword, to quell the climbing Pain.

 

Pain makes even fiercest warriors meek;

Left alone to further escalate,

Muscles atrophy, bones ache and creak...

 

I lack the proper tools t'elaborate

Just how much a toll this tends to be;

Even kindest souls can turn to hate.

 

Darkness comes -- the shadows' revelry,

Everything enveloped in the gloom;

A harsh reminder of Pain's certainty,

 

Helplessly, I drag along the tomb

My useless, moaning carcass has become;

A harbinger of my own painful doom.

 

Desperately I fought not to succumb

Without the hours needed to prepare;

My ugly opponent won the scrum...

 

But ugliness and pain, once brought to bear

Is nothing in the face of passion's bliss --

And so was born my "Jackson" nom de guerre.

 

Starting with the sin of flesh's lust,

My quill through carnal places unexplored

(My self-control unbound and left to dust)...

 

One by one, each poem a whispered kiss,

Passion echoed from the darkest heart,

Hand plucked from my hidden heart's abyss...

 

Would my pain be eased, my hope restored,

By the time I'm out of languid prose?

Does writing through the pain offer reward?

 

No reply forthcoming, I suppose --

Such is life: each person's search for joy;

Is mine out there? Heaven only knows...

 

But for now, these rhymes I shall employ

Shall tell the tale of how this bard began;

A series which I hope you all enjoy.

 

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- © J. Cambridge, 2016.