In My Darkness

Tags

introspection

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In my darkness

Words and concepts slither in shadows
Reality struggles against the bindings of fear
Love whimpers from pools of bitter damage

In my darkness

Goodness flees, skittish, traumatized
Truth searches jagged walls with bloody hands for escape
Light and hope bear no weight other than the meager soul languishing in death

In my darkness

Clever chameleons deceive the mind with temporal pleasures and distractions
Ghosts of atrocities passed and future call attention to themselves
There stands no forest…only trees

In my darkness

A gluttony of ego rises and falls as waves in a tempest
Maniacal illusions of answers to puzzles unknown spew the inner sanctum
Laughter and bravado create a false bravado of solutions to unanswerable questions

In my darkness

I lie in a pool of angst-driven sweat
Knowing truth will eventually glow and lead the way
Yet the intervals of clarity rain but isolated droplets into what remains of life

In my darkness

I dwell, wrestling with troubles more imagined than real
Or more real than imagined
Distinction elusive, evasive, eternal…

In my darkness

I search, desperate to define myself
Anxious of my inability to right my emotional ship
Until I slump in resignation-driven apathy

In my darkness

I find that which I often believe lost
Beaten into oblivion, never to be struck as a rallying chord again…
Strength

In my darkness

No matter how deep the well of doubt
No matter how lonely my crippled soul
No matter how dejected my loving heart

I reach a point of razor-thin ledges around the abyss
Falling off points where abject destruction must surely lie
I cease foolish, desperate grabs for purchase

I lie back into the blackness
Eyes neither open nor shut
Mind neither panicked or calm
Answers neither questioned or given

Then…

In my darkness

I rise to know…

…I own nothing but the breath I’m allotted
…I control nothing but the choices I make
…I love because my nature demands this
…I rise despite myself
…I cherish clarity’s kindly visits
…I realize truth never plays favorites
…I aspire once more in the pursuit of my truth
For that truth becomes all I require of a carrot, a light, a path

In my darkness

***

Periods of creative struggle never allows for easy living. At least for me. I know I’m down. I know I need to write. I know I need to get away and connect myself with my universe.

Yes, I own my universe. We all do. We simply allow others to define us rather than walking our own path. There’s an interesting “debate” I came across through a friend between the concept that we’re all the same and we’re all different. Both stand apparently true to me, but on far different levels.

Yes, we each exist as humans with emotions, rational thought, physical bodies, etc, yet each of us live completely different lives with different views and different reactions to experiences. We may hold strong similarities to individual experiences, but even in that infinitesimal difference between you and I on ANY experience, we are not the same. Nowhere near.

When you use general emotional reactions to situations, you may make argument for this “sameness,” but everything falls apart when you take into account the varying, impossible to calibrate, levels of pain, love, loneliness, anger, frustration, etc., added to the experiential truths we each gather within ourselves separate from others.

The complexities of life, individually stand impervious to homogenization. Governments, religions, corporations, all strive to herd us together to fit the molds they deem truth. Always, without fail, the efforts immediately fall prey to failure because the rifts and difference remain, most assuredly unseen for a time, but destined to fail.

Humpty Dumpty could never be more true a descriptor of the human race. We all search for answers in structure. I sense that path, time-honored and repeated for thousands of years, will never bring us one step closer to the questions we ask.

Ramblings. Just a peek at something I gleaned from the poem I just wrote. I’ve known this many times in my life, yet I constantly struggle, like everyone else in this world, to grasp it. Relaxing into the abyss, with a forfeiture of ability to manipulate anything, revitalizes strength. At least, that’s the way it is in my world, in my darkness…

 

Most Die on the Vine

Tags

introspection, poetry

I look at life so different these days
I see trees of green, skies of blue
I also see withering leaves feebly feeding a healthy mind

I look at life different these days
I’ve only just begun to live
I also see discarded nourishment all around

Life is different these days
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
I also now think the only sun in any eyes rise in my own

Life these days
For you, there’ll be no more crying
I also know as long as there remains breath, heartache skulks

These days
Would you know my name
I also know my name is less important than who I am

Days
Hello darkness my old friend
I also know that while darkness may be found in broad daylight, darkness is not as unfriendly as we think

Days look at my life
I hurt myself today
I also know when I purpose to achieve presence in the “now” pain melts like summer ice creams

Days look at my life differently
Who can say where the road goes
I also know, despite the world’s onslaught at homogenization, we build our own paths if we dare…

Things Gone, What endures…

Tags

introspection, life search, looking for life

Bike rides with me and JB
Chasing Dawna and Sally
Too frightened to catch them
Too compelled to not try…

The slamming of wooden screen doors
A sure sign summer approaches
A hook latch which clattered on each closing,
A sight and sound I never knew I’d miss.

Hand-cranked ice cream at church picnics
25 strokes per person
Earning your bowl with muscle
Pleasure from contributing almost as tasty as the treat…

Bottle caps on soft drinks
The pleasant swoosh of escaped carbonation
The metallic clink of the cap hitting the counter
Always searching for that damned opener beforehand…

Dialing a rotary phone
The ZIP! click click click click click
Locked into the proximity of the phone by a cord
Talking on the phone a special privilege

Long distance calls
Where every moment stood precious
$900 phone bills when you’re in love
The gulf between you narrowed by mere sound

A milkman delivering glass bottles of white heaven
An inch of cream on the top
The excitement of delivery almost as thrilling as the taste
A bygone era my children could never fathom

Life with no phones
Road maps crammed into glove boxes
Camping without communication to the outside world
Phones were for home and workplaces, not your every step

45 rpm records stacked on a fat spindle
Dropping sweet tunes as the tone arm always knew where to find them
Delicious sounds of creative genius
Delivered in vinyl disks

Moonshots
Miraculously brave astronauts riding insane explosions
Everyone breathless as the engines roared
Dreams seeded in little writers’ minds…

What endures?
The cacophony of over-communication drowns us
The disconnect from wonder deadens us
The distance we travel from our very souls threatens to destroy us

Planned obsolescence makes our televisions die more quickly
Plastics turned us into a throwaway world
Microsoft always finds ways to fleece us
As does most every major company on earth

BUT

Dreams endure
Hope endures
Love endures
Passion endures

Not so odd to me that all these come from within
That which is external to us, does not feed our souls so much
The packaging of our world makes these items tougher to find and maintain
Yet, they do endure…

See the Wind

Tags

introspection, see, seek inner peace, wind

Find yourself alone
Within your heart of hearts
Wander through your cobwebs
Find out where you start

Sift through dusty memories
Seek your inner you
Walk the walk of world escape
Find your inner truth

Wars and killing all around
Negativity blares its ugly horn
They won’t be sated and satisfied
Until you’re old and worn

Stroll your inner soul’s dark halls
See what others flee
You may find this world’s insane
First you must act to see

See your inner strengths and fears
Stumble through your failings
Understand you own viable strengths
Despite the cynical wailings

Release yourself from this world
Free your heart within
All it takes is your intention
Your ability to see the wind…

Murky, Mysterious Mirror

Tags

inner peace, introspection, search

Who Are You?

Where do I go to find you?
Elusive shadows
Wisps of breezes
Reflect the incomprehensible meaning of life
Ever swirling answers my direction
While asking questions ten to one

I thought I found you – in her
Bright smile
Love deep and pure
Honesty
Ever lifting my damaged soul
While I struggle to know you from the reflection in her eyes

Here appears our last of meeting places
That land where intellect meets soul
Cacophonies of mind
Fears of the cessation of life shared
Ever perpetuating our existence
While peace remains our shared desire

Where am I to find you but here?
Buried in expressions and thought processes and emotion
Flowed from within through the fingers
Connection
Ever fleeting, yet bulging with life
While meaningless answers drift on the winds of humanity’s delusions…

Poetry Double Header

Tags

heart, heart poem, introspection, love, love poem, melancholy, passionate, poem, poetry, writer's mind, writing, writing poetry

How about a double header today. At least a double header. I will only speak for myself here. For me, NOT writing becomes a malady. A disease. Actually, more appropriately spelled and emphasized as a “dis-ease.” This comes with much introspection and observation of life.

I wrote the sentence “astonishing how quickly life passes” from a person who posted online about the passing of Neil Armstrong. That statement is nothing new. Many have said it, and many will continue, including me.

The astonishing rate of the passage of life lives in me as a writer. Always has. In fact, part of the core of my inspiration and motivation to write finds its source in this fact. We don’t live forever. Temporal is such a devastating but perfect word.

I often struggle with life. I tussle with it. I wrestle with it. I resign myself to it. I rage against it. I caress it. I cherish it. I love it. I hate it. I find life unequivocally fascinating and enticing. I find life exhausting and depressing. I find life in every emotional aspect I can.

Then I write it. I write life. Good. Bad. Ugly. Sublime. Beautiful. Toughing. Real.

Then I don’t.

That’s my issue. My problem. My solution. My damnation. My salvation. I have a lover, or should I say, in Lennonesque fashion, my lover has me. First up on the double header:

My Lover

I need your voice, your warm hello
Your lovely smile that warms my soul
I need your time and special touch
Your soft embrace that’s never enough

I crave your passion, your intensity, your care
Your fountain heart, your billowed hair
I crave your presence, your breath, your thought
Your inspiration that’s never bought

I’m a junkie whose life rests in your arms
Your tendril fingers lead mine to charm
I’m a junkie whose realization came clear
Your mistral wind draws muses near

I’m lost without my lady’s attention
Your willowed breezes carry sweet intention
I’m lost without this lover’s swirl
You’re my indiscretion, writing, you’re my girl.

 

When I abandon writing for the “work” I must do, or even the day I must live, a dissonance forms within me. A need. A desire. A passion. I hollow spot that desperately needs filled. A flame that must burn. A tear that must fall. A wan smile that must creep to my lips. A laughter required to burst upon this world. A broken heart that must incinerate into phoenix ashes only to be reborn again.

Then there’s the “real” world. That hateful place where passion and creativity are “nice” but unimportant to the money-driven. Cast aside as weak and “hobbyistic”, my real world only lends lip service to my dreams. I must fight for my dreams and aspirations.

That’s a tough order when these dreams and aspirations are without form and void. Isn’t that the ultimate description of creativity? Without form and void? Something coming from nothing? Yet the “real” world demands explanation. Cross examination. Judgement of worthiness.

If you cannot live and make money in the “real” world, your worth is greatly diminished. Oh yes, that is until you actually come across with something tangible. Potentially salable. Consumable.

I’ve found the elusive kindred spirit to be a great desire. Someone who understands in this day of greed and avarice and power and external pleasure, that life truly exists on a breeze. Whether the day be nuclear hot or Neptunian cold, life wends its way through our temporal existence a fleeting, invisible wake that only can be seen in its after-effects.

A more consumable, tangible, and “reality” driven piece of writing that temporarily bridges the gap between the two worlds gets delivered something like this:

Her Digital Window

That slightly worn path ‘neath her digital window
Entertains warm, loving eyes that soar in the night.
Head full of rain, sorrow laden heart, yet
Silent melodies drift up to her in word caresses.

Dreams waft through breezes leagues from her shore
Curling and lazy and impassioned and more
Hopes cling through wreckage and pain and loneliness
All to fill her path with the aroma of love.

Could days so frantic, so full, so intense
Leave room for the night with its melancholy romance?
There are times when two walk this world together
With all the stars cheering their way.

Will she look out along the path ‘neath her window,
Grin and welcome a song in the night?
Stars then, in all their glorious symphony
Shall pale behind the twinkle in her eye.

Time steals what moments we may share.
Days too often rule like a heartless taskmaster.
Her slightly worn path ‘neath her digital window
Grows roses who strive to reach the light of her smile.

 

Why would I say this is more “consumable?” Simply because there are those who waffle between the “real” world and the emotional world. In fact, most of us must do this. We must survive and no one will feed us and take care of us for simply being in touch with emotion and writing about it.

The same is true of all artists. We all must support ourselves in order to pursue the creativity that lives within. So when writing resonates with the broader, more money driven populace, I say it becomes more consumable. The writing then “justifies” our existence to others.

I’ve found I am much too concerned about this “justification.” I’m too concerned with what others think, when I literally cannot know what they think. This may be part and parcel of what it is to allow your creativity to be exposed to the world. I know I struggle to find that kindred spirit who understands, who I can turn to at any time and get empathy and a knowing nod.

On this rainy, double header day in central Florida, my musings exposed for what they’re worth. To me, these musings in print keep me sane, fulfilled, and justified. I can only speak for myself.