Nine

Tired
Head rested
upon old stained
pillow, eyes full of
dark-blue morning mist, when
the moon is slowly dying while
rosy dawn reclined, still amidst warm
slumber, the bed remains cold comfort again,
ensnared in the silky web of time, while
the spider spins fate in a thousand mirrors, tarnished
by abandonded hopes and splintered dreams, in the
silent room, turning away from that empty
spot, averting a lonely gaze, fixed
now, spent on cracked plaster
painted by the hint
of sweet sunrise,
and honeyed
words.

July 9th

Wow, this year is flying by...I can't believe my son will be 14 tomorrow July 10th. I'm also observing the 4th anniversary of my daughter's death July 15th. It's going to be a week a major peaks and valleys, a week of happiness and sorrow, but more importantly a week that ends with a limbs and sanity intact.

Since I don't believe in any kind of religion per se, it's difficult to use the word prayer in that context. But I am
'praying" for the strength to see this week through without having to resort to all the old tried and false methods of coping. Let's just say that I will.

Church Bells

Lost in the cotton clouds,
Painted by dying flames
Embers in west, softened by
the humid streets,
The church bells, ringing true,
Filling the air with dulcet tones,
Lonely atop the old stone tower,
Carved by strong hands,
the hopes of an young man,
with an ancient heart,
looking desperately o'er the rooftops
for the life he used to know,
when firmament of body and soul
was so much clearer, now bent and
Broken like a casualty of war,
somewhere amongst the people,
crawling below like so many ants,
a fate shall be matched,
whether it be one or a hundred years,
those pale blue eyes
will know themselves once again.

Parchment

When the midnight sun shines,
against the pale backdrop
of the milky white hills,
you'll find me, treading softly
on lucid dreams and the
pinhole stars on the horizon,
keeping an earnest gaze, not stolidly
for I'm forever licking wounds
of times less grand, and tracing
the little roadmap of scars,
on the old skin I left behind,
every one a reminder of a younger age,
Now blood-stained parchment,
opened veins of hope, now sealed
with a purpose for the future,
now, again, and forever,
the pathway is clear, if only
I can find it.

Plastic Heaven

She never walks through that door,
No matter where it may be,
The depths of hell, to the
Precipice of heaven,
That person never resembles, the
Creation of the mind,
Even under the neon skies,
Those features are never lost,
Only disappointment reigns supreme,
Confidence disappears every time,
A slight glance reveals another,
Waiting for that message,
One that reveals everything but,
What you truly desire,
At the end of the day,
Its only a dream,
And where its best to stay.

Mermaid

The illusionist spreads his wings,
Lustful benediction
And the beauty of sedition,

On that orange flame sunrise,
my love was decided,
my love was derided,

I, Held upside down, by her pale
hands, strong with years of wringing,

And soon the crimson clouds,
covered the sky, tied by crescent
moons, and the stars
bled from my wrists,

Selfishly I wanted her,
at my own pace,
and yet the sun still rises,
while the yearning never ceases,

Benediction to sedition, truth
over hope, reality at the most pure,
an antidote for the masses,
still I reject the dawn,
an embrace the night.

June 19th

It has come to my attention finally over the years that I am very much the shell of someone I thought I used to be. How can someone say that? What does that truly mean? The shell of someone you thought you were...Well the way I can attempt to describe it is - I was never really myself in the first place.

I have never allowed myself the luxury of enjoying the gifts that I possess; this is not to say that I am better or more capable in any area or another over anybody - what is means is accepting my own person for who they are without fear of reprisal, humiliation, rejection or anger at what I think I ought to become or should be to satisfy others.

We all share a certain malady - no matter how prosperous or poor we are, no matter how self-assured or self-hating we are. The malady I am referring to is self-denial. It is a warm and comfortable place for all of us. Some overcome this sickness with sheer willpower and over the course of years and years of failing and trying again until they're able to finally discover a treatment for this disease - love of self. The love of self is not a cure for the disease, but rather a way to cope with the everyday pressures of trying to be someone else.

Now, the love of one's self may seem to many as a selfish or narcissistic notion, but it is not; rather it is the most selfless action a reasonable human being can take. Think about it this way, in your own experiences in life: when are the worst times (barring the untimely death of a loved one, and/or physical and emotional abuse from others) in your life most likely to occur? Usually these bad times or bad luck if you wish to refer to it as such, occur when we are at a level of self-hatred or self-denial.

It is during these times when we allow ourselves to engage in behavior that we would normally avoid - name your inner-demon - it will exist in you as well as others. In my opinion, it is impossible to truly love anyone - platonically, romantically, or in the general spirit of human kindness, unless you also truly love yourself.

It is this enduring battle that exists in all of us, including the very best of us. No one in the world is immune to this disease. All we can do as rational beings is to accept ourselves for who we are. Through the love of self, your true face can appear - we all wear masks to cover up the blemishes, the pockmarks and the self-perceived cavities in our souls. It is through the windows of our minds, our very own eyes, how we perceive what we believe to be reality. Looking outwardly from inside we learn much about the world around us, but very little about what happens inside.

I am certainly not preaching new-age garbage or religious gobbledygook - this is common sense. Common sense may appear to be in short supply for many of us in the human race, but it is not. It is the illusion of what we perceive to be reality that poisons the purity of common sense. Love of self can reassure us of the decisions we make, it can reinforce what we know to be right and true in our lives.

Once that feat - and it most certainly gargantuan - is accomplished, then we can begin to "be ourselves" around the ones we care about, we can show love, compassion, and understanding without having the burden of unduly worrying about how it appears to others around us. I am not advocating do whatever you heart/mind desires at any given moment - that is anarchy, and also another form of self-hatred. I am advocating the acceptance of self - for better or worse (it is to be hoped the former).

All that being written - I am as far away from that goal as the Earth from the Sun. But the realization of this idea has brought me closer to that goal than before. Here's hoping that anyone who may read this is closer to that goal or at least on the right pathway to get there.