You asked, ‘I do not understand…this pageantry for hate…’
And, more so, I heard the question…’really?’
As if, in disgust over how peace could be what I may have been feeling.
In an instant, the night raged on…doubt deep.
My fitful sleep…to keep.
Thus, I had lingered on your words today.
Watching as the roots, the limbs, the earth…felt the anger of our decay.
Avenging angels dressed up in their poetic make believe.
Babes with pacifiers, made of leather and recycled politically correct discussions.
Nibbling little infants feeding on store bought garden variety weeds.
Oh, the young, filling the void not the need.
Drifting back from the path in which I came.
The grove of 3 leaf clover, recoiled and fluttered
Nature blew about your sake, your self sanctimonious title…your fiery heart’s name.
My footing wavered over stone and ledge.
Focus, on good, focus, focus…
I began my pledge.
Death is spoiled on the old…or, so I am told.
Perhaps, I am just beyond bold.
Yet, I could not shake what might be easier if displayed.
Storms set deep inside the soul.
Rumbles of angst upon the horizon.
Wolves parading in opaque fur.
Screams in the night awaiting to be heard.
All of this and more, my dear.
As humiliating as stumbling down a wooden path.
Old and used…forgetting where you began at.
Letting bad karma take the lead…
down a road of… nature’s way of showing off our misdeeds.
Forgive me, friend, I had been skipping rocks from the beginning.
Another cursed devotee from childhood.
As they say,
I have become comfortably…numb.
My yellow-brick road…stands brittle with sand and gravel.
I seesaw between what is and what has been done.
I cherish amid the drawn lines…every campfire song…sung.
Ghost tales reduced by the midday’s sun.
Our gossip, rusty from the probability of love.
Every flung red Chuck…now faint from hanging onto wire…too long.
I have sometime back, given up on…
Voodoo dolls with no style…
Holy Rollers with crooked smiles.
I have not been a perfect person.
And, similar to a child, I wear a yellow slicker around my heart.
Miles have aged what I do,
the games I have played
and the wars I have waged.
Forgive me friend, a glass of Dandelion wine begs me to stray.
Don’t compare your insides with someone else’s outsides.
When I look at my life I see high-water marks of happiness and I see the lower places where I had to convince myself that suicide wasn’t an answer. And in between I see my life. I see that the sadness and tragedy in my life made the euphoria and delicious ecstasy that much more sweet. I see that stretching out my soul to feel every inch of horrific depression gave me more room to grow and enjoy the beauty of life that others might not ever appreciate. I see that there is dust in the air that will eventually settle onto the floor to be swept out the door as a nuisance, but before that, for one brilliant moment I see the dust motes catch sunlight and sparkle and dance like stardust. I see the beginning and the end of all things. I see my life. It is beautifully ugly and tarnished in just the right way. It sparkles with debris. There is wonder and joy in the simplest of things.
Maybe a lost cause
a lost girl.
Found by a wayward woman.
A predator, inquisitive, tarnished but bold.
Weaving her web to wayward prey.
Talons sharpened by the victims she slays.
Ascending the turbulent sky…defacing ache.
I guess she must fly where pleasure belongs.
I want to believe…she teases away the mistakes.
It drink it in as though, it were my original sin.
Tin boots beating at the paneled walls…that hold my mind in place.
A cool breeze canvases karma and comes away…whispered reminders of debts yet…to be paid.
How daring to not imbibe when the spirits surround my blind side.
The hoarse intonations gather at the base of bad decisions…
And, what I hear?
...there is no place to hide. I will find me!