Holding Back Tears

She spoke of tears as if, a translucent demon.

As a nightmare that is grappled with over and over again…

until it is finally shed.

Had it not been a means of self-preservation for all of her confined years…

I would have agreed.tear 2

Ironic what we are taught and what we do…

slowly becomes a watercolor mask we cannot take off.

Poverty Pond

Poverty Pond, what a lonely drink of water.

Does your name tell a story?

poverty pond 1

Or, has the richness of a thrashed season…stole the glory.

Gaps in the gleam and the glare…illusions of seeming to care.

What would you know of fanfare?

Black as a demon from a stolen heart.

Ugliness sinking from your lost cause.

Where have the ripples revealed all the flaws?

Snowstorms on an October Day

There had been a snowstorm that year.

She had been secured by her own demons…and, prone.

For the first time, I had seen love barely breathe in.

For the first time, I had seen love barely breathe out.

Slowly with little fanfare, I witnessed endearment leave the house.

demon 1

Surprising the deception of blue sky on an October day in New Hampshire.

There is little opportunity to what the sun brings…

The conflicts between what we do…what we mean…what we say…

Unnoticed changes between nightmares and daydreams.

How winter can suddenly arrive on an October day

Alone by Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allan Poe/ Alone

Someone Else’s Demons


someone else's demons 2

What is the point?

I asked myself this…today.  As I attended to the daily ritual of finding peace in nature.  Others go to church…I wander in the woods.

My Blog, RandomwordbyRuth, tends to be…let say, random!  I tend to guide my feelings poetically, but there is always a guard standing over the words.

Lately, I have been pestered by demons.  Demons I have created.  Actions that have been shameful.  Being in recovery, amends is commonplace, for me.  Still there are moments in time when regret for past and current actions…dwell in my mind…like a memory you just cannot shake.

No atonement can repair these discretion’s.  As far as, I am concerned.  I’m okay with that.  Today, though, it occurred to me that many persons who I read, and many persons who follow my blog have…someone else’s demons!

It is someone else’s demons that has plagued my usually tranquil thoughts.  Someone else’s demons, to those who are thoughtful, become our beasts.  And, this is where it gets confusing.

It is relative to me to know…that another person’s past, has to be part of mine.  I had no choice in the matter.  IT had been handed to me similar to

‘Pass the salt, please.’

For almost six years the burden of conduct unbecoming my kin, is now a constant, why did this happen?

I cannot give away the act or misdeed.  I cannot describe to anyone, for fear of unveiling a monster, a history that is not only criminal.  It is beyond…insanity.  With every blog I post.  With every poem inscribed.  I can only take my pain so far.  For if I unveil the awful truth of, someone else’s demons, lives are at stake.

Someday, the truth will prevail.  And, I can shed what sits in the back of my mind everyday.  The abandoned toy in the corner of a room, not used, not discarded.

So, for now, someone else’s demons will have to be rectified with…

Love dares me to care for someone that…typically, I could and would not.

someone else's demons 3

Someone Else’s Demons

What is my window?

How does my pain grow?

Why is it you know, what I know?

Where does this Canterbury Tale go?

Sooner, later, will love cover the stoned wall?

Depicting once upon a time…

A forever rummage sale of borrowed saints.

Oh, darling, isn’t this town quaint?

My past is nothing but unpublished quotes.

I am merely a domestic,

seasonally shedding an indignant coat.

someone else's demons 4

This story-line is an organic haven.

To me, love’s hidden shadowy key.

The search for a happy ending always swaying in the trees.

I hope to be the person Mother Nature expected me to be.

-dedicated to a little warrior named, Chey.