I saw you today, did you know?
Did you see me over there, leaning quietly under the broad oak?
You were sitting gracefully on that white bench.
That white bench that overlooks the creek behind the abandoned farm.
That white bench where we sat together for the first time so long ago.
So long ago you opened the door, when my world was crumbling to the ground.
So long ago for you, but it doesn't seem that long ago to me.
Sunny days spent frolicking through periwinkle carpeted fields.
Endless nights walking along the creek, the moon lighting our way.
But that was so long ago, and there I stood all alone...
Under that broad oak, did you see me?
Watching you sit all alone, tears in your eyes on that white bench.
I saw you today, did you know?
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A night to remember
"BANG!"
With that, she jumps out of bed, running back to her shaking mother still standing in the dimly lit foyer. Alone she stands, trembling, sobbing, a look of pure mortification on her face. Not once does she glimps to her left to she that little girl of only seven, her gaze is fixed on the man lying crumpled to the ground in front of her, blood pooling next to his head. His life violently robbed from his body, at the sake of his own hand.
The little girl has seen so much, so young, too young. It wasn't just a week that he had brought this gun into their home. "We need to protect ourselves," He convincingly told her mother, but who could protect him from his own torment?
The days passed by without remorse. Smiling faces, silly places, many nights a drunken bliss. This night, started like most, a slight chill in the air, after a warm sunny day.
With that, she jumps out of bed, running back to her shaking mother still standing in the dimly lit foyer. Alone she stands, trembling, sobbing, a look of pure mortification on her face. Not once does she glimps to her left to she that little girl of only seven, her gaze is fixed on the man lying crumpled to the ground in front of her, blood pooling next to his head. His life violently robbed from his body, at the sake of his own hand.
The little girl has seen so much, so young, too young. It wasn't just a week that he had brought this gun into their home. "We need to protect ourselves," He convincingly told her mother, but who could protect him from his own torment?
The days passed by without remorse. Smiling faces, silly places, many nights a drunken bliss. This night, started like most, a slight chill in the air, after a warm sunny day.
Small little child
Small little child, you beam up at me, trusting without remorse.
You put faith in me, a faith I don't yet believe
Small little child, you don't yet realize, how small I feel inside
I scream and cry so violently, but nearby you always stay
Small little child, your unrelenting faith, I do admire
How determined your devotion, with no provocation
Small little child, so weak in strength, so powerful in force
You have the ability to move mountains, with just a slight plea
Small little child, with such a soft voice, represents a loud message
Oh, my dear little child, how did I ever lose my voice?
You put faith in me, a faith I don't yet believe
Small little child, you don't yet realize, how small I feel inside
I scream and cry so violently, but nearby you always stay
Small little child, your unrelenting faith, I do admire
How determined your devotion, with no provocation
Small little child, so weak in strength, so powerful in force
You have the ability to move mountains, with just a slight plea
Small little child, with such a soft voice, represents a loud message
Oh, my dear little child, how did I ever lose my voice?
Saturday, November 14, 2009
All Alone
All alone I stand... neither here nor there. Wondering, pondering, imagining a future year, less the pain, less the misery. The hope is shredded, torn, passed on by, still I cling to a future year, as I stand and cry. Upon the night, neither here nor there, I slip on by, searching for tomorrow, a brighter day, that's not astray.
All alone you are, aren't we all somehow? Sharing, passing, caring, loving, hurting.. aren't we all somehow. You hold my hand, yet I slip away, away somehow, away somewhere. But aren't we all somehow, neither here nor there, unrelenting, unforgiving, challenging, fighting... Never giving up on yesterday, never accepting a brighter day.
All alone we strive, it seems so unfair. To bitterly declare another day, another day alone so long. Wishing, hoping, dreaming for a greater day, a greater day that's gone astray. There that day, so far, so near... It presses forcefully the light away. So here we are, alone today, but who contends it's bad this way?
All alone you are, aren't we all somehow? Sharing, passing, caring, loving, hurting.. aren't we all somehow. You hold my hand, yet I slip away, away somehow, away somewhere. But aren't we all somehow, neither here nor there, unrelenting, unforgiving, challenging, fighting... Never giving up on yesterday, never accepting a brighter day.
All alone we strive, it seems so unfair. To bitterly declare another day, another day alone so long. Wishing, hoping, dreaming for a greater day, a greater day that's gone astray. There that day, so far, so near... It presses forcefully the light away. So here we are, alone today, but who contends it's bad this way?
Friday, November 13, 2009
Here nor There
All alone in a vast swirling space, deafening silence stirs the smoldering embers of self mortification. Swiftly, realization of the impending dilemma come barricading down... Down and around, reminding the weeping child within that there is no crack of light breaching beneath that hypothetical emergency exit. The escape route, once perfectly planned and calculated, lies crumbled, disregarded in the shadows of the night.
All alone in a sphere of light, zipping, zapping to and fro. Excitement racing along streams of contentment and self actualization. Through the blinding rays of dreams, aspirations and hope revels the coming of dawn, the coming of a new day. Poised and commanding, claiming the center of the gravitation, griping the joys of a brighter day in the stronghold hands of yesteryear.
All alone I stand... neither here nor there. Fear nor strength secures my stance, unrelenting... maybe slightly faltering. I glance, searching for my home, my greater cause... Seemingly yet an undetermined cause. I reach willing for tomorrow, but cling hopelessly to yesterday.
All alone in a sphere of light, zipping, zapping to and fro. Excitement racing along streams of contentment and self actualization. Through the blinding rays of dreams, aspirations and hope revels the coming of dawn, the coming of a new day. Poised and commanding, claiming the center of the gravitation, griping the joys of a brighter day in the stronghold hands of yesteryear.
All alone I stand... neither here nor there. Fear nor strength secures my stance, unrelenting... maybe slightly faltering. I glance, searching for my home, my greater cause... Seemingly yet an undetermined cause. I reach willing for tomorrow, but cling hopelessly to yesterday.
Broken Journey
Broken moments, still lapses in time
Tightly clasped hands, slowly slipping apart
Fleeting glances, many unspoken goodbyes.
Unknown fears, chances never discovered
Journeys not taken, paths left unattended
Footholds lost, shoestrings remain untied.
Endless slumber, dusk with no dawn forthcoming
Unanswered voids, broken hearts left unmended
One breathless sigh, all returns forbidden.
(work in progress... Not really liking the flow.)
Tightly clasped hands, slowly slipping apart
Fleeting glances, many unspoken goodbyes.
Unknown fears, chances never discovered
Journeys not taken, paths left unattended
Footholds lost, shoestrings remain untied.
Endless slumber, dusk with no dawn forthcoming
Unanswered voids, broken hearts left unmended
One breathless sigh, all returns forbidden.
(work in progress... Not really liking the flow.)
Gleefully Tangible
It has been just over five months since I heard her voice, that gruff voice streaming over telephone lines, thick with irritation from the annoyance of a phone call at this time of day. In all reality, it was anytime of day, her rugged hello had the ability to cause even the most thick-skinned, balls-to-the-wall determined telemarketer to quickly back down, even to the point of retreat, waving his white flag high in the air as he whimpered into submission. Instantaneously her voice slipped into a gleeful welcome as she recognized the voice of a familiar caller on the other end of that call.
I sit here, with the swishing sounds of the rinse cycle rhythmically chugging in the background, eyelids slowly closing out the glaring lights from this laptop, and momentarily hear that same sweet voice, excitedly inquiring how I am doing. Never did she care to talk a minute about herself, I was her gift for that space in time. I was all that mattered. She cared little to expose the pain she suffered, to relate the grief she still felt from losing her own mother so recently, to rant about how aggravating my father was. The only focus was allowing her an opportunity to see into the doors of your life, as if she, for an instant, could escape the perils of her world, and walk with you through your journey.
Rather suddenly, the images fade with the buzzing vibration of my pink Blackberry sitting so loyally nearby. All I'm left with, is the hopes that I can someday fill the void left behind.
I sit here, with the swishing sounds of the rinse cycle rhythmically chugging in the background, eyelids slowly closing out the glaring lights from this laptop, and momentarily hear that same sweet voice, excitedly inquiring how I am doing. Never did she care to talk a minute about herself, I was her gift for that space in time. I was all that mattered. She cared little to expose the pain she suffered, to relate the grief she still felt from losing her own mother so recently, to rant about how aggravating my father was. The only focus was allowing her an opportunity to see into the doors of your life, as if she, for an instant, could escape the perils of her world, and walk with you through your journey.
Rather suddenly, the images fade with the buzzing vibration of my pink Blackberry sitting so loyally nearby. All I'm left with, is the hopes that I can someday fill the void left behind.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Surreal Visions
Urgent men scramble around, a little girl stands there among them, matted brown hair plastered to her round face, pink PJ's, wet from the pee that had escaped her young bladder during the night, cling to her chubby body. Pink is her favorite color, at least that's what her mommy says. Inside she really likes purple.
No one pays attention to this little girl, but she's used to that. She's not even eight, but she takes care of her mommy, little brother and baby sister. She loves her mommy, hoping one day she'll be as pretty as her. She often wishes her brother would disappear. He's such a brat and he takes too much of mommy's time with all his whining and sickness. He gets sick just so mommy will love him more. Her sister is ok, just a baby.
Confused, dazed, shivering, bare feet scraping against the cold, rough cement sidewalk, on this brisk mid-September night. Siren whirling, lights flashing, blinding in the chaotic night. Glimpsing to the left, she catches sight of the man from night before, the one that saved them from angry Dave. He throws a blanket over his head, exposing his naked body. Feeling the warmth quickly fill her cheeks, she instantly looks away in embarrassment. But she must look again, the urge is too overwhelming.
"Where is she?" Not realizing that the damage is done, that it's too late, she scans the surroundings, watching the naked man try to fight through the bustle of men in uniforms; yelling, "SHE'S STILL IN THERE!!!" They pull him back, pull him down, down to the dew soaked grass. He's yelling and fighting, "SHE'S STILL IN THERE!!!" Stupid man. You can't fight the cops, they always win.
"Where is she?" More frantically she wonders. "MOMMY?" The moonlight cascades over the house, the house that is now engulfed with flames. The flames are mesmerizing, orange, yellow and red all fading into each other, dancing in the breeze, the breeze that is making her body shiver under the drenched clothing.
"Honey, let's go inside." The pleasant voice suddenly snaps her out of the trance, and instinctively she quickly shifts her gaze from the beauty of the fire, to the welcoming face of a strange woman. "Sweetie, come with me. We'll get you all cleaned up."
The little girl whispers, with fear lacing through her words, "Where's my mommy?"
As young as she was, she recognized a look of sadness in this pretty lady's face, a look that her long golden locks falling around her face couldn't hide. She answered her, after what seemed like eternity with a deliberate, vague answer, "Baby, the police are taking care of it."
Without ever being told, that little girl, that innocent little girl wandering along the cold, jagged sidewalk, knew her mommy was never coming home again. Just 20 days before her eighth birthday, she had received the last hug and kiss from the mommy she loved so much. In a whirlwind of events, she had been left all alone in a harsh bitter world.
Sitting here, more than 20 years later, that little girl is no longer innocent and alone. She sits here, the sound of Push Play in the background, reliving one of the most horrific, life changing tragedies that she had to endure. More than 20 years later, the wounds reopen in the recanting of this night, this night she had tried to hard to push into that cobweb covered corner of her mind.
I'm that scared little girl, realizing that I never did find a cobweb corner in my mind to place all the unpleasantries in my life. I always thought, if I don't think about it, it can't hurt me. I have unfortunately found that regardless of the fantasy world I construct, it is still there. I stumble upon it when I least expect it; like the times I feel like venturing outside my imaginary bubble to embark upon a new journey. That's when I bump into her,she's standing there, persistently waving at me, reminding me to never forget her. Such a beautiful woman, so much pain. Is that what people will say about me when I die? Will they say all the niceties, followed by the contrite "but"? "....But she was in so much pain, more than physical." "....But her soul was broken."
I refuse to let that be me; I refuse to keep my secrets hidden. You don't have to agree with me, you don't have to read one word of this. I'm not doing this for your personal enjoyment; I'm doing this as a tool to aid in my growth. My life is in my hands and it's time I took charge. She missed the milestone in my life, that last hug that night, before I fell asleep to the backdrop sounds of the drinking and partying,means more than a lifetime of recitals.
No one pays attention to this little girl, but she's used to that. She's not even eight, but she takes care of her mommy, little brother and baby sister. She loves her mommy, hoping one day she'll be as pretty as her. She often wishes her brother would disappear. He's such a brat and he takes too much of mommy's time with all his whining and sickness. He gets sick just so mommy will love him more. Her sister is ok, just a baby.
Confused, dazed, shivering, bare feet scraping against the cold, rough cement sidewalk, on this brisk mid-September night. Siren whirling, lights flashing, blinding in the chaotic night. Glimpsing to the left, she catches sight of the man from night before, the one that saved them from angry Dave. He throws a blanket over his head, exposing his naked body. Feeling the warmth quickly fill her cheeks, she instantly looks away in embarrassment. But she must look again, the urge is too overwhelming.
"Where is she?" Not realizing that the damage is done, that it's too late, she scans the surroundings, watching the naked man try to fight through the bustle of men in uniforms; yelling, "SHE'S STILL IN THERE!!!" They pull him back, pull him down, down to the dew soaked grass. He's yelling and fighting, "SHE'S STILL IN THERE!!!" Stupid man. You can't fight the cops, they always win.
"Where is she?" More frantically she wonders. "MOMMY?" The moonlight cascades over the house, the house that is now engulfed with flames. The flames are mesmerizing, orange, yellow and red all fading into each other, dancing in the breeze, the breeze that is making her body shiver under the drenched clothing.
"Honey, let's go inside." The pleasant voice suddenly snaps her out of the trance, and instinctively she quickly shifts her gaze from the beauty of the fire, to the welcoming face of a strange woman. "Sweetie, come with me. We'll get you all cleaned up."
The little girl whispers, with fear lacing through her words, "Where's my mommy?"
As young as she was, she recognized a look of sadness in this pretty lady's face, a look that her long golden locks falling around her face couldn't hide. She answered her, after what seemed like eternity with a deliberate, vague answer, "Baby, the police are taking care of it."
Without ever being told, that little girl, that innocent little girl wandering along the cold, jagged sidewalk, knew her mommy was never coming home again. Just 20 days before her eighth birthday, she had received the last hug and kiss from the mommy she loved so much. In a whirlwind of events, she had been left all alone in a harsh bitter world.
Sitting here, more than 20 years later, that little girl is no longer innocent and alone. She sits here, the sound of Push Play in the background, reliving one of the most horrific, life changing tragedies that she had to endure. More than 20 years later, the wounds reopen in the recanting of this night, this night she had tried to hard to push into that cobweb covered corner of her mind.
I'm that scared little girl, realizing that I never did find a cobweb corner in my mind to place all the unpleasantries in my life. I always thought, if I don't think about it, it can't hurt me. I have unfortunately found that regardless of the fantasy world I construct, it is still there. I stumble upon it when I least expect it; like the times I feel like venturing outside my imaginary bubble to embark upon a new journey. That's when I bump into her,she's standing there, persistently waving at me, reminding me to never forget her. Such a beautiful woman, so much pain. Is that what people will say about me when I die? Will they say all the niceties, followed by the contrite "but"? "....But she was in so much pain, more than physical." "....But her soul was broken."
I refuse to let that be me; I refuse to keep my secrets hidden. You don't have to agree with me, you don't have to read one word of this. I'm not doing this for your personal enjoyment; I'm doing this as a tool to aid in my growth. My life is in my hands and it's time I took charge. She missed the milestone in my life, that last hug that night, before I fell asleep to the backdrop sounds of the drinking and partying,means more than a lifetime of recitals.
Musings
The days are just a blur, the smiling faces, the distant laughter, the wind whipping through with leaves chasing each wave. Robotic movements dictate the rise and fall of dusk and dawn. Hello. Goodbye. I love you. I hate you. I stand screaming, "WAIT FOR ME!!!!" It's all in vain. Alone I stand, in the pouring rain.
Hoping that one day the cold, untouchable demeanor will cease to exist. Humanity is an amazing, beautiful morphism that continually changes.
You say to me, "Forever." I look away and sigh, "Forever is just a dream, a fantasy. Unattainable, unimaginable.... A glimpse into the vision of God."
My haunted soul. Longing to escape this world. Slipping through the strings.... the strings so carefully tied to the wispy ends. The restraints are buckling to each pull, each fragmented movement. The misery escapes with every breath, with every sway. In time I'll be empty, lost, a mere shell of discontentment. Obsession. Rage.
Living a sub realm perverse life, promoted you to the czar of judgements. Lest you offer a hand, a consolatory word. Supremacy seeping, oozing from every poor. Neglecting the guidance whispered through the tear streaked shadows. Standing, the rays filtering through a spectrum, barely visible, overcasting... Never eliminating your menacing look of disgust.
Inspiring moments shape our impending destiny. Motivated by love and acceptance of others, we spring forward, often disregarding the caution signs along our journey...for it is with a strong will that we will succeed... Each day is molded through a reflection of our SELF
Restraining. Emotion. Cascading. Enticement. Consuming. Darkness. Liberating. Success.
Tightly secured in the warmth of your embrace
Curving the waves of despair
Securing existence in theory
Diminishing persistent doubt
Loving. Unconditional.
Hoping that one day the cold, untouchable demeanor will cease to exist. Humanity is an amazing, beautiful morphism that continually changes.
You say to me, "Forever." I look away and sigh, "Forever is just a dream, a fantasy. Unattainable, unimaginable.... A glimpse into the vision of God."
My haunted soul. Longing to escape this world. Slipping through the strings.... the strings so carefully tied to the wispy ends. The restraints are buckling to each pull, each fragmented movement. The misery escapes with every breath, with every sway. In time I'll be empty, lost, a mere shell of discontentment. Obsession. Rage.
Living a sub realm perverse life, promoted you to the czar of judgements. Lest you offer a hand, a consolatory word. Supremacy seeping, oozing from every poor. Neglecting the guidance whispered through the tear streaked shadows. Standing, the rays filtering through a spectrum, barely visible, overcasting... Never eliminating your menacing look of disgust.
Inspiring moments shape our impending destiny. Motivated by love and acceptance of others, we spring forward, often disregarding the caution signs along our journey...for it is with a strong will that we will succeed... Each day is molded through a reflection of our SELF
Restraining. Emotion. Cascading. Enticement. Consuming. Darkness. Liberating. Success.
Tightly secured in the warmth of your embrace
Curving the waves of despair
Securing existence in theory
Diminishing persistent doubt
Loving. Unconditional.
Lines are meant to be crossed, and to open dialogue.
For those actively in the scene, reality is the construct of their own perception. The audience however, has an insight beyond the curtain fall.
Your opinion of me matters very little compared to my opinion of myself.
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