Tag Archives: Death

Empathy

Surreality chokes the world with fear
While everyone fades to myst
And yesterday falls in a tear

Memories and fear share tomorrow
As if never is here
And joy cannot overcome sorrow

My self lies within crumpled dreams
As I rise to the reality
The words I spoke were a silent scream

Tears of the soul carry silent cries
Not heard or seen
By untrained eyes.

I feel the tears of a thousand souls
Carrying burdens and hope
And the the unbearable toll

Grief isn’t silent to those who listen
It screams through silent eyes
And tears that never glisten

So listen my friend to a story of old
Hardly ever heard, but often told
You can hear with your eyes
And see with your ears
If you listen with your heart
And embrace your own fears

Gathering Ghosts

Some days I feel like a haloed reaper. I carry memories and tears like wings on a gargoyle. Frozen outstretched emotions of guilt that no longer feather air. Just a concrete memory that I wish I could paint back to life.

It’s time that ticks off the emotions. Weather, seasons, darkness all come like lightening. Unexpected flashes of childhood folly or adult dramas playing out as a reminder. I wonder at the places they’ve traveled in spirit; do they know?

I wonder if life in spirit is more colorful than life in body. Does pain dissipate like myst in the spirit, or does it choke you like smoke. Are you smiling down on my naïveté or cynical about my faults. Either way you speak to my understandings in a way I can’t describe and you can’t communicate.

These friends of mine aren’t “up there”. They’re everywhere I remember. Breakfast tables, playgrounds, even the train tracks we romped. I listen to us on the radio and silently hope you would approve, but in the end I am reminded you had your own ghosts.

So to carry these people and places around is an honor. I’m still here creating my ghost. Hoping I can leave the trace of an unknown smile, or a tear in a rear view mirror. I hope I can create a space where yesterday and today come together without the burden of tomorrow. A space where my loved ones can carry with them a moment in the sound of rubber in asphalt. Until then, I’ll carry Ya’all in the summer breeze and winter storm with the same warmth you’ve given me.

Dust

Dust dances through the attic within shards of light slowly passing time along well worn planks. It’s magic they seek in the eyes of the beholder. They have no fairies or ghosts without the fertile or feeble minds staring in wonder.

Creeks and whistles play staccato games with swaying trees just beyond the pain. But this is a space of remembrance. A place where memories are free to roam through cob webs and yellowed paper.

Slowly I run my hand along wooden chests and metal straps. My mind travels along colorless photos of perfectly groomed alabaster faces wearing oversized suits and cinched dresses. I wonder how long it took these memories to arrive in my hands, in my mind, are they even mine.

I smell the struggle to open these boxes of yesterday. Places and moments are separate in the still morning light. Every box opens with a sigh and closes with a question. Is this real, was that then, or is this some cruel reminder of how distorted time really is. Minutes and hours are easy. Days and nights are bearable because tomorrow still exists. Past this yellow fades white, laughter sounds distant, and feeling is a remembrance or dream.

But I have what’s left of my memories in a box, that’s fortunate. I have captured time, or has it captured me, sometimes I wonder. What my hands can’t grasp my mind helps along. As the dust dances on in the light of a new day I’ll become the memory. A blessing and the curse of a life long lived.

Of Nature and Desire

Concentrically narrowing foliage chokes my optimism with caution. Thorns and petals stalk my path to a less humid endeavors. But this is how truth hides, just beyond the greenery withering in all of us.

The canopy has levels that reveal light one shard at a time, until your above the tangle of vines where there is no forest floor. All you see is beauty framed by heaven as fresh air wisps away the rot decaying below.

If only I could fly away to stone. An edifice imagined. Stolid and thoughtful granite curves that time hides. Water cascades over the riffs she’s etched in my strength. Sun glistens on the darkness creating black rainbows in the mist, and lichen warms the crevices of my souls.

The beauty of this carnage we call nature is odd, like love it takes great pains and grows with time, only to be passed on to the budding life below. The tallest trees see it while taking warmth from above, mocking us as their roots draw from our strength. Their saplings without us withering in the clutches of vines, but it’s beauty to the naive.

Life is a beautiful struggle between our nature and our ideals, between our needs and desires. Inside us the biological and psychological battles constantly feed on us like the worms that till our soul, but all we see are faces as we paint our landscape with beauty.

Lightning Strikes

Memories strike like lightning bolts full of anxiety leaving me frozen in time. You flash across my horizon in seconds I can’t see, but feel non the less. Each bolt rips a horizontal chasm in my reality as if within the streak of light is the other side of us.

Eyes dart inside my motionless body as the silence of something short of fear covers my thoughts like a blanket. Quietly I stare, like a noise or smell could change the trajectory of my life.

Is it hope or fear, or a wave of confusion. How did your memory become electric. Static and fluid chasing something short of dreams around my mind. You live within my hopes and fears now, like when you left.

You had till death do us part, I never had a divorce. Ill be married to you for ever. Together forever was your promise. You didn’t tell me it was your forever, without me, so now I stand here in the vacuum of us.

Memories aren’t dreams. Like panic isn’t fear. Together we created this sphere that spins within my soul, and now I awaken startled that anxiety is all I have left of us, but all storms pass and the memory of your smile still brightens my day.

So this is love and loss, memories and dreams, panic and fear. I struggle daily to not let this define us, and like a stormy day, the memory of your smile shines through to the other side of a new me.

I forgive you today, now that I understand you weren’t all that left. I understand you’re not coming back with the pieces of me you took. So now I fill those empty spaces with the pieces of you I kept, the good and the bad. But that’s life and loss, that’s us. A fragmented possibly of forever cut short by decades of if.

Nick

Nick

Cigarettes dangling from his mouth
One hand a hammer, the other nails
Talking in blue smoke rhythms
While the sound of work hammers on

Driving and talking our way to a beer
I was young and inspired by stories
A horse with needles drives behind us
Hidden in the blue smoke and dreams

2 week run before the plastic melts
Chain store relay wins the day
Cash fills the tank and veins
Through a blue smoke nod

Kids and old ladies cry or nag
But rainy days bring dollars
The roofing belt can’t hold
a few beers later we’re home

Then the vacuum comes hard
Bars and sweat bring clarity
Out there blue smoke dissipates
Cause possibilities live in here

Furloughed hopes twitch in buses
Stopped at desolate crossroads
No one is around to see your dilemma
Or the war within the blue smoke

A young kid and an old soul drive
hustling acrid asphalt streets
One dreaming in the light of day
The other hiding behind blue smoke

That last ride down south on 95
Passing time and experience along
Exits ramps and memories long gone
Like memories up in blue smoke

Terrain

The sound of my heart echoes over the hills one thick heartbeat at a time. Sweat stains my soul as my breath catches the breadth of heights. So here I stand on the ridge of another crest with only the remnants of the valley to give me hope.

I pause to let the beat of my pulse catch the winds of time. It’s here, closer to heaven, I feel the weight of earth. All I have are thoughts and a clear view of where I came from, where I am, and all the places I can go .
The valley is dark and cold. Everything is wet with decay, but it’s here where life lifts up mounds to mountains, a hard place to live. The sun plays hide and seek with branches of faith. Surrounded by shadows masquerading as shade I shiver at how cold I can be.

These are the depths of despair that keep me moving towards a plateau. A barren mountain top where the sun beats down so hard the valley seems a respite. A windswept mountain top where all I hear are my thoughts reverberating off my soul lifting my spirits past where I feel.

The sun becomes my mirror. It reflects my desire for peace and love to unite my hopes and fears into a faith that transcends the path I must travel. I’m blinded by the light at times, but always aware of the darkness within a stare, a balance of nature.

And because I move, I enjoy the reflective moments. Because I rest, the labor is refreshing. And because I love, pain cleanses my spirit to new heights. My journey is all that’s mine. My paths are trodden with my steps, heavy and light. My steps are purposefully taken towards a more peaceful me.

I scream at the thunder, cry raindrops, and think bolts of lightening. I am my own storm howling off the mountains atop ages of decay, but my feet are always planted firmly on the ground. It’s here my struggles are rooted.