Beckoned eventually by absolute loneliness. A life will extinguish without a last flicker of fight. Surrounded by shadows, possessions and emptiness, look back on a life steered by a hand that squeezed too tight. Every pathway hid not a door but a wall. The desired opening most impenetrable of all. Fists banged and punched until they bled. Legs kicked with an anger that burned a scorching red. Now gone forever as a body lays still, cold to the touch if there was someone to feel it. Passing on from this life with no legacy in place. A lifeless seed, a hope gone to waste. What joy can there be if we never bear fruit? What use is living when living is the end? Where was the path with a different route, instead of the maze that had a wall at every bend?
I had to attend a funeral today, held in a very old Orthodox church. As the mourners piled in, I found my grief numbed slightly by the beauty of the church. It made me more conscious of the beauty of life. All life. Especially mine. I wondered what I would hope for if I lived long enough to see death coming. Would I make it to old age, where the whisper of the wind becomes a faint calling from the other side; every passing Winter is a warning, every Summer a blessing, every Fall an omen and every Spring a re-birth of the will to live longer to see it all again.
The 94 year old great grandma being buried today was a lucky woman… She made it far longer than most and leaves behind a joyous legacy. Even in me for, as I sat there in the beauty of the church, grieving her passing, I found a will to live my life not for the better but for the moment – the here and now. My life, my present, my here and now, is blessed and beautiful. I just never saw it before. Thank you great Grandma and God bless you for eternity.
The colours of happiness will never appear without a border;
The darkness of sorrow, without which we’d know not joy.
Elation, it seems, is like an obsessive hoarder;
It hangs on to the fragments of life like a child clutches a toy;
Memories shade every section of our lives;
Childhood to present are strokes of a brush;
Every new colour the result of how one strives;
Blocked out with black to symbol death’s eternal hush.
Before the blackout comes a swathe of light;
See colours dance on a canvas of our making,
The dark border is there but rarely captured by sight;
Look at the edges for inner awakening;
We are framed by the dark to make more vibrant the bright.
You thought you wanted it, then you had it, you got it, you got me,
Only to hate it, reject it, destroy the whole fantasy.
For you life as a player,
It seems it has to be,
Gaming and shaming,
Paining and breaking,
No conscience to tame it,
Prevent the whole tragedy.
I often ask God “why would you target me?”
Becoming a victim of someone so openly
Devoted to notches,
Chasing bare crotches.
Proud of his attitude,
No conscience to stop it.
If time could reverse I’d willingly clock it,
To erase our first contact,
Just dead it and drop it,
No cast-off label,
No sad-ending fable,
See who’s worth trusting
Who’s only lusting
Who’s only gaming, playing and hustling.
Now we have friendship,
Damaged for life,
Ruined and weakened all by your pride.
Something to brag about,
To show off to your friends,
Putting nails in the coffin,
Remember when it ends,
Game and gaming killed,
What was once yours to treasure;
A soul that was happy, now tarnished forever.
Work – it’s the Devil’s tool of destruction / an instigator in Freedom’s abduction /the menace of work is little understood /no-one fathoms that which they should / works makes us servants, shackled for life / with little hope of an end to the strife / months and years in forced servitude / killing your spirit, destroying your mood / life should be lived and joyously good / if only, if only, would that it could.
Friends will always come and go;
A grievous fact I’ve come to know.
Bonds are fragile, not permanent chains,
Too easily broken whenever it pertains,
Dead are the roots to hold friendship in place,
Their outstretched arms now withered from hate,
Twisted and weak, hammered by the rains;
Tears still streak my bloated face.
Loneliness… such a desolate state,
It slows the world to a lethargic pace.
Memories linger like a ghost by its grave.