So Natural

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So Natural

So natural to write words
A voice in the heart
Sings concepts through fingers.
In the quiet hours of pre-dawn,
You glide through my heart,
Ethereal, sublime, surreal.
All that’s left are the moments,
Special times met with delicious sexual tensions,
As real and present as the morning sun.
We parlay through our snippets of companionship,
Enjoying.
Laughing.
Crying.
Running through thunderstorms.

So natural to write words
Playthings which draw ever-dotted-line-lives to the page.
Low-tide castles to be obliterated by the sea of time,
Rebuilt as often as we desire,
As often as we may afford the energy,
As often as love cannot be silenced,
As often as breath allows.
And in those moments when you swipe my breaths away,
All I may do is smile.
For the castle rebuilds itself.
Despite me.
Despite you.

So natural to write words
Pale imitation beings which carry the colors of a rainbow.
The passions of a lover.
The musings of brilliance.
The silliness of a man gone bonkers.
And discover knowing love is all.
Not that this concept ever stood in doubt,
But that we own the privilege to love and be loved.
In life, we drastically underestimate love’s scope.
To play once again with possibilities.
Dreams.
Passions.
With eyes directly off the horizons of love.
Fresh with perspective.
Wizened by age.
Fueled by a soul more open than ever.

So natural to write words.
Inadequate to the task,
Yet a beauty interlaced because of connection,
Not to any one person other than self,
Connecting the dots of life which appear random and chaotic,
Which they are indeed.
Yet when one steps back and surveys the insane landscape of the page,
A transcendent beauty emerges from the mess.
An otherworldly view of life and times.
Joy.
Pain.
Happiness.
Sorrow.
Elixirs to sip as fine wines.
To cherish.
To smile upon in their infantile pursuits.
To carry, not upon your back, but within the peace of memories loved

So natural to write words.
Expressions brought to the page.
Love songs.
Stories.
Passions.
Praises.
Diabolical attacks.
Yet through their mists,
Carnages of nonexistent battles,
Witnessed within,
Battles of what to do with love,
Whose folly lies not in their sometimes foolish expression,
But more so in those expressions restrained.
Those which struggled for freedom,
Those clung to in fear.
For what manic power comprises words,
But the inner self striving for release,
Through a medium poorly constructed,
And a heart beautifully crafted.

So natural to write words.
Darkened mornings of sultry wishes.
Extravagant dreams of what may be.
So easily washed away by dawns harsher light.
But now, for those who see,
Who feel,
Who understand more of life’s true essence,
I see you.
Your power.
Your beauty.
Your natural grace disguised in clumsy conventions.
Constructs of your mind, heart, and soul.
And while I stroll in your garden of love,
Which, more directly stated,
Are the delicious moments we share in time,
I’m reminded that love and passion within this soul,
Within my core essence,
Are intended for use.
For focus.
For release.
For sharing.

So natural to write words.
All the more lovely to have your left hand scribble on my page.
The impermanence of this life threatens to wipe our slates,
Yet we continue to draw.
For words only exist as tools for artists
Who delight in crafting their thoughts and dreams and nightmares,
Creating colors typically through black and white symbols,
To convey the spectrums of good and evil within,
Both being important,
Both being connected,
Just like you and I.

One day.
“One days” never happen
We quicken ourselves to them
Or they die the quiet deaths of fleeting dreams.

One day
We will have each other.
Or not.
Either will define us in some manner.
Either will impact us in some manner.
Neither scenario will destroy us.

So natural to write words.
To state a case.
To paint with the tools of passion.
So natural to write of love.
Desire.
Hope.
Through each day as follies and victories rise,
Each as fragrant as the other,
The fact you glide as a misted ghost,
Materializing in moments,
Disappearing in the space between breaths,
Only lends smiles to an inner face.
For you are the wind.
Beautiful beyond all seeing.
Lightest of touches.
Unseen furies to tussle existence.
Soothing in your softness.
Frightening in your capacity to rage.
Missed sorely in your silence.
Cherished beyond imagination in your merest of touches.
You are owned by no one,
Yet you visit us all through your loving touch.

So natural to write words.
So natural for you to blow in and out of my life,
For your life follows the paths of ghosts.
Those of us fortunate for your touch,
May only wait and hope for another.

So natural to write words.
These words stand true –
Trust me.

A plea to the breezes of love,
That they may touch my soul,
And in return, be offered relief.
If only in moments,
For as we know,
Moments are all that’s allowed us,

Which is oh so natural…

Well Spent

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Well Spent

The haunting has begun.

Desire

Somehow, some way, you must come to me.

I will not disappoint.

I do not go into this flame blinded.

I go in eyes wide open

Thrilled by your brilliance.

 

The sadness though.

The lows of denial.

Lows of truth

The lows of another missed opportunity in life to experience something beyond the ordinary.

Beyond the day to day.

In the realm of fantasy but so much more.

A pinnacle which may go no higher.

Yet we strive to climb ever upward

while we delete pieces of ourselves,

Stack them,

Step upon them.

Each time we select a slice of passion,

a chunk of desire,

a brick of debauchery,

While our shells stretch ever higher.

At some point, we shall fall.

 

But what a freefall it will be!

Spectacular!

The best fireworks in the world cannot imagine our flameout!

We’ll scream together!

Sure, part of our scream is panic and disorientation.

But the glee!

Unabashed, we gasp air as we fall from grace with sexual deities.

We flutter like spent leaves back to the cold earth.

We hope to land together.

Nestled by the potential rot of life to experience

into the comforts of two bonded humans.

 

We both know, though, we may yet become caught up in one of life’s barrel fires

where each catch flame and again soar

to those lofty heights we once achieved.

Frail, glowing-ash replicas of who we once were,

grateful for the final fire,

the memory that we kissed.

We made love.

We stirred passion to its core stratospheric essence.

We count our lives well spent.

That first kiss,

so long ago,

yet still on my lips.

Still in my heart.

Everything and nothing.

An ember billowed to flame by our breaths of desire.

They’re all here –

fantasy.

love.

passion.

connection.

friend.

lover.

Sadness clings to longing’s coattails like morning mist to a mountain.

Lazy hollows steeped in mystery,

shrouded by ghostlike images,

lying in wait for something spectacular to occur.

Yes

We’ve been well spent.

And like the Phoenix,

we’re not dead yet…

 

Our Imaginations stand as the great mystery as well as the most untapped resource on Earth. When we combine imagination and reality, wondrous inventions are born. Inventions of physical things, inventions of concepts, inventions of plot, inventions of life. Imagination wraps our dreams, aspirations, desires, fears, and a host of other life experiences in possibilities.

Imagination delivers life to the soul. Writing purges the backlog of imaginings which allows fresh ideas, feelings, concepts, and the like to spring forth into a new day. As a new dawn recedes, the day rushes forth in all its expectant wonder. Will you grab it? Taste it? Experience it?

You Can’t Always Get What You Want…

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Collections…

Life fills the heart
freedom
half eaten burgers
abject loneliness.
sadness
melancholy
goodness
sweaters
passion
shock
favorite cups
revelation (did you ever revel in it?…)
A time to every purpose…

Collections of moments
Spaces in time which last forever…
In two minutes

Collections of moments
Days which stretch eternity…
In into six hours

Collections of moments
When the right thing to do…
Is the dead last sensible action

Collections
Building swatches into the fabric of life
Allow these patchwork moments
To blaze in the colors you feel
Not the hues of prescription
But the blatant explosion of beauty
Which only you may define and pursue

I smile

Therefore, I am…

The Fog

The Fog

The fog of life
Time.

No time to accomplish anything of merit

I feel the oppressive depression of time and its lack.
There’s nothing left to me
Or is there?

I awoke to an epiphany
I saw my malady
The absence of enough time to accomplish great things
I fight this every single day
I work through quicksand
The word “quicksand” is laughably descriptive
The answer drives my need to work harder
Smarter
Faster

Yet, in the end, there is nothing
There is only all the amzing creations left behind
Not in the world
But in my mind and heart
The ones I forsake along the way because I cannot manufacture time

Hunger eats at me
Desire flickers ever present in my soul
Yet neither gets quenched
Only sated momentarily
This is the nature of life, is it not?

The curse of life as well
So many feedings left to enjoy
Or to struggle for
So many loves to attain in which to revel
Or none

Intimacy whispers to my heart as I lie in bed
Searching for that one love
Love which heals
Forgives
Nurtures
Comforts
Understands

That love does not exist
Or its the grail
Clarity arrives with the full moon
Sounds like such a superstitious load of shit
Yet I see this
I feel this
I experience this

A rising of consciousness
Hidden away in unobserved memories
Imprinted on our lives despite our oblivious minds
Higher levels of clarity
A time to make things happen
A time to know
A time to seize and make our own
A time to grasp a tidbit more of who we are and why we’re here

Words of a crazed man?
Someone who writes his soul
Someone who explores possibilities
A man delving into possibilities again

Poetry’s a tract
A path
A trail blazed through words
Concepts
An openness to all
Sometimes labelled the universe
But so much more

Words become poor substitutes for the mind
The heart
The soul
The conceptualizations
Clarity
The concept of clarity
No, the reality of clarity
Outside the fog of the dream of life
Outside the confusing smoke/mist delivered daily in our corrupted universe
Yet clarity blossoms in the fog when we discover truths

The fog keeps us corralled.
Time limits our ambition
Or time fuses our ambition
Fuses time in the crackling fire of driven awareness

These words become an ethereal whistling through the graveyard
Footsteps padded by tiptoe strolling
Fearful others may read and think me mad
Hopeful others may read and understand
Fearful others my read and none actually get it
Hopeful that the prong of exploration may draw another nigh…

Use of old words and concepts pay homage to those who came before
Those who knew much more
The greatest deception of modern life is that we know more
This deception stands as our great undoing
Our greatest lie which we embrace with fervor

Those who passed before us knew more of life
We decorate our lives in baubles and trinkets of shallow ilk
We call these prizes technology
Technology’s lure rests in what I currently employ my mind, heart, soul and fingers with
A tool which cradles benefit
Yet we use this tool for so much less than we could

Why does speaking in poetic riddles appeal so much?
Because the essence of information I desire to deliver does come through the sentences and lines
Answers of truth lie between the lines
Words exist only as triggers
Road signs to the melancholies
The passions
The heartaches we cannot define
Words strike up a firing of synapses
Yet every single brain contains different perspectives
Therefore the words only capture brief strobe-like glimpses of what lies within us

Truth will always lie in the eye of the beholder
More so than beauty
For beauty plays at deception
Truth consistently and constantly awaits discovery

This meandering path of words must wind its way back to the fog
For the truths hidden in our life’s fog patiently stands immobile
Yet
Often when we discover one
We find it has moved from where we once thought it to be
But then we realize this truth either never existed but for our moment in time
Or it permeates all of life
Or swaths of life
Or miniscule aspects of life
All tied together in one experience
Or many experiences
Over the insanity of forever.

Could our time on earth be but a snippet of forever?
Could our time on earth be but a difficult dream?
Even in our glories our experience is fleeting.
That which we believe we possess truly owns us
But owns us more by what they withhold than what they deliver
For the more we grow attached to their deliverances
The less we search for truths and answers which never ever lie within our possessions

At times, I sprint through the fog
Especially in earlier days
I crashed into truths and got knocked on my ass
Never understanding them as anything more than barriers
Souls from the past discovered unlocking truths
We hide in our digital dreams
Our bread and circuses
Our folly of near constant distraction
Rather than explore and ponder our fog of life

I suppose my subconscious discovered many years ago what I now realize
I cannot attain my potential
Which does not mean I dive into apathy and surrender
But rally myself to another plane

Do you even see the fog?
Is the mist of your life the shiny call of the physical world and its delights?
I walk those areas as well at times
Yet in moments of clarity
Mist surrounds me
Counterintuitive, isn’t it?
I fathom there lies more to be discovered in the mists
Than the brightness of day could ever reveal

Horrors lie in the brightness of day
For everything in our world of light and sound
remains propped up by false foundations like abandoned movie sets
Used to keep us from our purpose

I stroll the night and love its wonder
For the time I spend in the shadows and mists
Deliver a nearness to where I discover and learn
The light of day contains the same truths
But the distance one must travel to get past the baubles and trinkets stands greater

Scientifically, the moment of awakening reveals our most creative moments in life
I sense the full moon affords us a clarity if we would simply pursue the connection
No science here
Simply an observation.
Not only of myself
But also my poor, demented mother
Lost in her own fog without a mind remaining to guide her.

Sadness is never in the words
Sadness comes from the trigger the words deliver.
Whether we like it or not, what we seek lies shrouded in the mists of eternity
We should feel honored and overwhelmed when we stroll these sacred mists
For we glimpse
Ever so slightly
Our underlying connection to forever…

_________________________________________________

A couple quick notes on this meandering writing. I awoke to a sense of clarity and ambitious intent. I should have written immediately, but I allowed myself to be lured by a Netflix series titled “Glitch.” This is an Australian film and I am fascinated by the premise.

That said, this poem(?) rambles around a bit. I often do not publish such writing, but this one felt a bit different. I awoke to a realization of “downtroddenness” for want of a word that is not really a word. I’ve struggled for a few years with despondency. I feel everything I do is for naught.

Sounds like depression, doesn’t it? Even though I continue to write, I deny myself the pursuit of everything writing could be for myself. I am so busy taking care of others, I forsake the one thing which gives me a sense of connection to purpose.

Recognition of a problem is the first step to adjustment. I don’t want to say “correction” because everything in life is laid before us for our own lessons. At least this is what I believe. Therefore a “problem” is not to be corrected. Learning from the problem becomes the experience. The drive to move forward gets its momentum by the effort to understand and adjust based on what I learn.

So, while the above writing lacked some of the focus I generally desire, the journey of the writing itself was beneficial for me. Hopefully you were able to glean something of value for yourself as well.

Wondering

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I wonder…

I wonder why people don’t use their own sites and even Facebook pages as a dating site. Let’s wonder together for a moment. Have you peeked at dating sites? They’re a hodgepodge of D&D – demanding and desperation.

The demanding aspect goes something like this. A person states all the things they like (and often things they do not like). They pretty much demand a potential companion be onboard with said likes/dislikes. This is done, most often, with an air of desperation and statements about past problems with previous mates.

To a discerning eye and heart, there truly is no appeal in those scenarios. Then, of course, the smorgasbord of pictures you get to “thumbs-up-or-down” as though you are shopping for humans. The degrading aspect of this visual Russian roulette brings the sense of desperation even more to the forefront.

Why not place something out there on your Facebook page? Why is it such a disgrace to be single? You may play around all you want in the anonymous world of online dating, but heaven forbid you go out on your social media and simply state, “Hey! I’m single! Who wants to meet for lunch?”

I suppose that could be perceived as borderline desperate to some, but why not be honest about your situation? One thing I’ve discovered is this: I don’t want to have to acclimate someone to my very full life. Cold fusion explosion does not work well for me. Why not move forward with people who know you? People who know your life.

Meeting someone organically through your everyday life would be far more meaningful and comfortable than attempting to explain it all to perfect strangers. Ahhhh, but that’s the draw, isn’t it? Those perfect strangers who DON’T know you. Who DON’T have a clue about who you are. The thrill of the chase and anonymity!

I still wonder why we don’t put out our “single-ness” within our own social media outlets. I’ll use this post as a toe-in-the-water thing…

I wonder…

How do cruel people consistently get away with their evil, damaging lives? My observation is that the most aggressive personalities who impose great damage on others, especially those closest to them, walk around decrying how much a victim they are. I find this disgusting.

And who do these bitchy, maligners attack most fervently? The soft-spoken. The empaths of this world. The people who actually feel with a depth and intensity completely foreign to the foul, hard-hearted, vindictive souls. These creeps, male and female, wreak their havoc, then whine that they’re the ones damaged.

These people too often “win” because it takes a strong heart and mind to stand against them. It takes someone who will weather the bullying. Someone willing to take the abuse and stand their ground. My experience has brought me some disappointing insights.

The abusers rarely get caught. They endear themselves as victims to key people, then work their evil. I wonder why people do not see through their horrid disguises. The narcissists are taking over the world. Too many of us fall prey to their bullshit and actually give them free reign to damage others. I see this every day in the world of counseling. A counselor who loses their objectivity and makes excuses for a narcissist before the narcissist even speaks is as guilty of promoting evil in this world as the ones actually dispensing the pain.

In some ways its a shame that a good ass-whipping is no longer in vogue. The most damaging weapon on earth is words. I’m a wordsmith and I recognize this as truth. Without words, no one would be angry enough to push the button on atomic bombs, war, murder, and all other manner of sickness.

But what about the permanent damage words have on lives. When you give a person carte blanche to abuse a child with their nasty vocabulary of pain, you damage this world’s future in ways you could never fathom. I will forever wonder at how the cruel people are allowed to foment pain and then blame their abuses on others. A self-perpetuating disease of humanity, this will be the downfall of man. Our extinction lies on our very tongues.

I wonder at how this is not seen by the world as our most immediate and relevant issue as a species.

I wonder…

Why does loneliness hurt so much yet the addition of another person is never the answer? I do know the answer to this in some forms. Yet, feeling this does not allow the knowledge to dispense much comfort.

This is somewhat related to the desperation listed above in dating sites. But I’m wondering about something more internal than the external “Select-A-Mate” dating sites. I’m talking about how you must learn to be self-sufficient with your life. That you must be your own companion. That you must learn to love yourself enough that another person is not critical.

I get it. I actually understand and agree with the philosophy. Yet, putting this into practice does not always work when the inner demon of loneliness pops up unbidden. Not that anyone would call on loneliness to come. Is that a thing? Do people actually do that?

So much of life gets spent on fighting with our internal demons or dying by their hands. By dying, I mean pieces inside us which deteriorate and collapse under the weight of debilitation our psyche’s hand us. Often touched off by others, we do an amazing job of becoming walking shells of who we could be in this world.

This is why the narcissists’ damages bode ominous for our entire race. I know a mother who would rather punish a child into suicide rather that be kind and loving. I watch this play out as a sick, horrific movie except there are no actors, only pain-filled people damaging and dying. There’s even a gallows humor available, but the reality is so stark, so pathetic, the humor would completely lack any self-redemption at all, making it nothing but more pain to be heaped on the mountain of damage.

But I digress. Loneliness hurts. I believe it hurts most as a child abused by a callous, self-righteous parent (or two) who stand on their deluded self-importance and cannot see and dispense love to the child who needs nothing more than that bond of togetherness of child and parent. Damage a child very young in this area, and loneliness will always drive their fears and pains as adults.

I wonder why people who consistently damage others cannot see their culpability. I suppose they were so damaged themselves, that ability already died within them. Again, this will destroy the human race eventually.

A wonderful public speaker said from my Inspired Mic stage a couple weeks ago this wonderful statement: “We need to become addicted to love.” The crazies, the loons, the militant desecraters of others with their hateful mouths will never subscribe to this. They will forever use words of hate to drive their points in the media, in person, and in private.

I wonder.

Will the people who dispense their hate through their horrible words EVER recognize their folly? My observation is absolutely not. No counseling, no court, no positive example has ever moved the people I’ve observed toward a positive mindset. They continue to slap around verbally the ones they’re supposed to love with no regard for future consequence.

I wonder.

Will I be able to hold my own against the onslaught of hate and deception? The battle is fierce. Holding my own positives become more of a challenge with each assault. That appears to be the way of such people. They keep attacking until they beat the life out of you. The fact they verbally, emotionally, and spiritually beat the life out of children disgusts me more than the attacks on myself.

There’s no help for us under attack. There’s no legislation against these verbal bullies. Laws do not address their assaults. Laws to not protect anyone from them. All the laws of this land protect against the physical transgressions, and even then, the laws fall short of any real protection. We will wake up one day and see that the narcissists have taken over the world.

I wonder why so few people are seeing this?

Ghost Town

Ghost Town

Faint echoes trickle beyond the eye’s reach
Phantom playgrounds of yesterday’s loves and hates
Carnal knowledge taught only in misty realms of despair
For time long ago usurped the quick and slightly spared the unliving.

Loves and dreams and aspirations huddle in their timid holes
Prodded to vicious life when stumbled upon by those searchers
Those wanderers who seek Truth in places best left for dead
For all here lies fallow, unforgotten, yet distorted to reality’s gaze444

These ghosts build monuments of vapor in the future
Glimmering, shimmering towers of brilliant lies
Conceived of pain and longing and suffering and tainted ideals
Oasis’s to mirages in the path of the unaware

Lured by the sweet tease of candy floss dreams
Wicked in their deceit of possibilities
Hearts fall prey to the future games of those who’ll never be
Building more corners of deception just beyond veiled walls of fog-like substance.

Pasts haunt the human loves of life
Landmine lollipops easily suckled into one’s soul
Mirrored by future-built cities of perfection and happiness and glory
When each of those live only in the scantest nanosecond of a thought before reverie and dream
Both smoke-like demons who rob essence from the corporeal
Delivering dusty memories and insubstantial goals to the unaware masses

Heed not the slavery of the past
Its glories, fetters to anything real
Learn only, if you dare, to embrace not the day but the moment
And disdain the lure of what could be.
Tread in the light of reality
Open your eyes.
See.
Engage.
Live.
For now is your time
Now is your moment
Step forth from ghost towns of memory’s tease
Into hope.
Beauty
Astonishment.

 

Life…

Room to Grow

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What a world! Death. Mayhem. Greed. Hate in politics. Hate in families. Hate in the races. Where and with what do we identify ourselves?

So easy to get caught up in our Communication Age technologies. The shitty truth stands as this: as a species, humans are piss-poor communicators. We truly suck at this. With all our “social” media, which is pretty much far from polite, the only things we seem to be able to do is shout nastiness into a digital vacuum at other humans. Pathetic.

Our technologies are not eating our souls. Our technologies already devoured them. Right now our self-made predator is simply digesting us. The irony is that I’m caught up in it all as well. I’m using this site. I’m writing these words.

I’m looking for answers.

When I get to these emotional caverns, I turn to poetry. More and more my need to flee from the digital world presses harder on my soul. Yet, I’m infected like so many others. Maybe this is my way of clawing up the digital esophagus hopefully to be expelled. LOL!

A line from a powerful song touched my flagging soul. I decided I need to write something with the root of this line giving my writing life. I don’t know what words will come. As I key these words I will now discover what I wish to say about the concept of…

“…find a place where there’s room to grow…”

Room to Grow

I viewed my life with my heart in my eyes
The ground my companion while I begged to fly
Fears and trials and life’s overwhelm
I’m a rudderless ship, none man my helm

Not true in so many pedantic ways
A member of society, I “live” out my days
But why don’t I live as I desire and seek
Am I too scarred, too scared, too weak?

All I desire stands in that line
To find a place where there’s room to grow.
Is this too much to ask?
I think not…

Not one outside me holds my answer
No matter how many shall make an attempt
The question to everyone’s answer will always be mine
As will my answer to everyone’s questions be mine

I choose
I choose to live less than I can be
I choose to live in confinement
I choose to wither and suffer as I do

Yet,
There exist moments
Snippets of time and energy and heart and muse and creativity
Where I thrive.
Where there exists limitless fields of pursuit
A place where there’s room to grow

The voices in our heads do not serve us
Oh, yes, listen to them!
They’ll tell you everything they do for us!
Those occasions when we break our stupor and jettison their caterwauling
We find ourselves
Cramped.
Imprisoned.
Dried husks.
Empty.

We do not see our world
We do not feel our world
We do not interact with our world
We pursue our entertainments and diversions.

The place where there’s room to grow resides here:
Our heart.
Our mind.
Our soul.

Not the despicable hatred spewed by other humans.
We must learn how to walk away.
How to keep our mind active.
How to keep our heart feeling.
How to keep our soul from dying.

I use the very technology which has stolen our hearts, minds, and souls.
I don’t know what else to do.
Beauty lies waiting in the breezes, the rains, the sun, the trees.
Just outside.
So close.
I can see freedom.
I can sense freedom.
I can feel freedom.

Get up.
Walk out there.
Become one with my breath.
With my body.
With my surroundings.
If only my mind would come with me.
If only my heart would come with me.
If only my soul would come with me.

And leave all this other shit behind,
I would find

My place where there’s room to grow…

Life and I, we meet now and then, when I am alone…

Where Your Sanity Goes

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Where Your Sanity Goes

Monkey-mind voices in your head
Scenarios projected always dead
Yet they fill your heart with thoughts of dread
Where does your sanity go?

Conversations never had
Full of stressors, mostly bad
Entire process feels so sad
Where does your sanity go?

Clean your brain of debilitating thought
Clear the wreckage which you bought
By listening to the cacophony wrought
Find where your sanity goes

Take the time to enjoy the rhyme
Your path can be a pleasant climb
Transition from insanity to sublime
When you find where your sanity goes

We wreak this havoc on ourselves
Place sensibility on dusty shelves
Live within our minds in many hells
Simply because we do not know
The paths where our sanity goes

Monkey-mind voices in your head
Set aside so your heart is fed
Craziness may be put to bed
When you find where your sanity goes

Take time. Make your effort strong
Right the chaos of your mind’s pure wrongs
You’ll find your path before too long
When you find where your sanity goes.

Your Absence I Fill With Me

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Your Absence I Fill With Me

Your absence I fill with me
No hand to hold, no smile to share
All that’s left is my fading smile
The one I wheel out in my more lucid moments

Your absence lives throughout my life
Missing link to my character flaws
You know, those things which define me as a person
The hiccups which need love and understanding

The hole in my soul you could never fill
I do not want you to try
Yet, your presence would allow me to explore why this exists
We could discover each other’s unfulfilled dreams

Just the hope
A sliver this may be
Spark of something, someone
I could fill your absence with me

MY footsteps pad barefoot through the corridors
My feelings know this section well
I placed others here wishing they would thrive and occupy the space
I know now, only I may truly fill it

But could you truly exist?
Do you desire to take residence in a mansion of kindness?
Love?
My hollowness shares emptiness and vitality

Do you walk this earth?
I’ve searched. I’ve worked hard to give you life
You’re not here and I question why.
I relax in the thought that you may only thrive as I thrive

Your absence I fill with me
Hope fueled by the dust in this place in my heart
Residence open. Willing. Wary.
A new look. An new perspective. The same immense ability to love.

Morphing the me into we
This must be natural. This must be true
Time cruelly robs this life of completion
But that does not mean we give up.

We could fill our hearts together
Hand in imaginary hand we could build
Not things and houses and toys and distractions
But bonding, love, nurture, peace, smiles, laughter, joy.

As I finish cleaning out my heart
It’s this room in which I stagger, I hesitate, I caress the emptiness
For this immense space reveals my capacity to love
You could never fill it. I would never wish that upon anyone again…

For that is my beautiful task which I regard as a high calling.

Where are you…

Weight of the World

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“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader…” ~ Robert Frost

For all those caring for loved ones ravaged by Alzheimer’s, I’m certain some will understand what follows…

Weight of the World

I could lift the weight of the world
Sling the fearsome beast over my shoulder
Strain against trials and tribulations
Absorb all the torment this life can dish…

If only it would leave her be

I lie the tiny lies
The ones she warned me about
The ones I told young and filtered out of my life as I grew
The ones which now desecrate all her teachings

If only I could forgive myself

I run from her when I should do the opposite
Fear of contagion and loss and helplessness
Fear of everything I cannot control
Fears she would not have me bear

If only it would leave her be

I cry the dry tears of toughness
Brave face to bear the unbearable
Brave heart broken by circumstance
Bravado the mask of weakness and desperation

If only I could have her back

I could bear the weight of the world
If this were not my mother
My right from wrong
My joy in striving
My definition of responsibility
My path I’ve strolled all these years
My connection to goodness in the face of evil

If only I could find myself in all the mess which surrounds my soul

I could toss the weight of the world aside like a plaything
But all that I am fades before my eyes
But the loving heart remembers less and less each moment
But the day approaches when I no longer own the now cherished albatross of Golden Child

Cruelty to witness the disintegration of a mind
A heart
A lifetime
Crumbled into the sands of time like some useless thought
My child-castle on the shore overrun by indifferent waves of memory destruction
And I could bear the weight of the world if this would only leave her be

For that incalculable measure would become feather-light
At the release of what I carry
If only it would leave her be and
Deliver my sweet mother back to me…