Stranger Hue (Something New)

I see upon a tree leaf green, a speck of a stranger hue, a stranger color, something truly new.

That stranger speck that strange new hue, brighter than Autumn’s red, bolder than Autumn gold, it glittered in that strange Fall dawn and was something few would be brave enough to know.

I did dare to see, I did dare to find that color so new and so strange, and it filled my sight and filled my eyes and wet my weary and parched soul.

Now if only I could, if I only I will find that stranger hue, that stranger color, bolder than an Autumn gold and brighter than I brightest crimson. If only I could find that stranger hue, that stranger color I never could say I knew.

Oh to show the world what that green leaf did share that day, something so bold and bright and new. Wouldn’t that be something bold to do?

Truly something to brave, the task to share something so strange and so new on that Autumn dawning, that fall day, oh to be so bold, it indeed would be something new.

My Mind (No Translation #3)

I stands alone on a broken shore, and Us is there no more, the We They were is gone today but here tomorrow though They never really were at all. Me is there but I is gone and never to be here again, for the We I was is gone today, to come again tomorrow, at least that is what They say. So yet I stands on the broken shore, where Us never was to be, and Me is all but gone, just a broken memory.

On Preconceived Notions and Utter Bullshit

I’m honestly not sure if the title to this post is even remotely acceptable but its not going to be another poem, I feel like actually talking today so here we go.

People seem to have a lot of preconceived notions on how others should deal with their emotions. How someone should love, how someone should show they care.

How someone should grieve, how and for what reasons they’re allowed to be sad or even depressed.

I’ll tell you right now, its all bullshit. People, some people, not everyone but some, have this idea that bad things happen and then you just, restart, hit that little button on the side power back up and put a smile on.

That doesn’t always work. There are days, there are days where I think to myself, I’ll admit, I grieve, for being my idea of a fuck up. I don’t know how to even start going about fixing it. There are days that I look at myself, and I wonder where did the me that loved actually living go off to die and replace him with this drone that carries on?

There are some things, some losses in my life, that I don’t feel fully comfortable sharing on a public forum. It seems far too much like attention seeking for my sense of comfort, but I will say, that when you lose someone, that doesn’t stop, it doesn’t end. That process, that grieving process people say comes to a close eventually? It never REALLY does, there are days that, at least for me, I wake up and I think of one of those people and I still, years later, wish it was just a joke. Something I could fix with a quick call on the cell phone and talk about how odd that fake funeral of theirs back in whatever year was, I’ll avoid using actual dates, for the same reason.

Though I must say, I can’t help but feel that this idea that talking about them, talking about their death, lets call it what it is for once instead of using the word loss or passing, is somehow wrong of me. To call it attention seeking, would likely be adequate, to some extent. Even if it only is for my own attention, to draw my own eye to my scars that somehow popped open, we all share things in hopes people will care. There is, in my mind, nothing wrong with that, and this sense of shaming that we have, that “oh they used their loss to get attention” is such the wrong way to approach it.

They wanted attention, needed attention because they hurt, it is not somehow wrong to need attention, to need help. To want someone to talk to you and really, truly care. That’s just being human, being alive.

So really, what I guess I want to say is if you’re grieving, while my loss is likely not the same as yours, and perhaps not as recent, I have scars from that too, and I can say in all honest that I do care, and that I feel that when people have reached the point that they, not in so many words but in actions, feel it is time to move on, to get on with your life and stop crying, I have to say that’s just utter bullshit.

Yes, you should continue living, it would be doing the one’s we lost a disservice to their memory, and it would be doing irreparable harm to the ones still alive to do otherwise.

Move on however? How? How long does it take to move on? I’ll admit I sure as hell haven’t, not completely, but how long is too long? Is there a list? Check here and fill out form b 112? That’s not how it works, that’s not how life works, no matter how many people want or wish it would behave otherwise. You grieve, as you need to, you try to find all those pieces that might be shattered and missing, and put that back together as well as you can as you try to keep going forward, regardless of how heavy that weight is, and you do what is right for you. I can’t say for sure if you ever stop hurting or not, I can say there are days you don’t think about it quite so much, life has a way of taking your mind off the past, but there is also days were I at least, feel almost guilty, for still going forward, for trying to move past that point in my life, and I turn around and I see it and I realize they never got the chance to move on, they stopped, that was it.

So you grieve as YOU need to grieve, and take the time it takes YOU to put yourself back together, and  when you’re finally able to move forward because YOU are ready to take that step, make it known, ask those around you for the support you need and take that step. Share your grief and pain, make sure you’re not alone unless you truly need the solitude, and if you do need it, make sure you remember you don’t have to be alone. Also though, remember that just because someone else thinks you should be ready to start being OK again does not mean you have to agree.

 

That’s really all I wanted to say, I blame books for this but I just had to get this off me, it was weighing me down. Thanks for reading, and I do hope you find the way that is your way.

 

 

My Mind (No Translation #2)

Us is here and Me is there but We are lost at sea. We see the dawn but race the night until out of sight I flees, Me is there watching with closed eyes staring at the beatific tragedy even as They decide to turn Us loose, to lose the tie that binds. Lost and loosed an all alone Us is left to live or die adrift alone at sea.

My Mind (No Translation #1)

I and We dislike that Me that decides to cry when We decide to go and try to do something that I will like but We despise and that Me at that time inside my mind took that knife to that I that made the We and left Us alone with only that shuddering shaken shattered Me that made mistaken miserable miscalcuations that led to monotonous misery and an indentured imagination lacking intellectual stimulus and emotional support so the I and We are gone and Me is sitting and standing while stalking and crawling and sitting in that corner rocking cutting their arms with a blade that doesn’t have an edge while edging closer to the edge staring in stupified satisfaction for surviving without living, simply persisting in painful permenance and stymied stagnation without proceeding and exceeding just falling behind, lacklust and lacking

Rising Fear

I see them coming closer I see my rising fears. I see my hand upon them as they are ever drawing near. I fear this is the end love. I fear my death is here. The water is a rising and the tides of dark are near. I see them coming closer, these are my rising fears.

My hand no longer holds them no longer held at bay. The dark has come at last, night has overtaken day. The hounds of hell are baying, I see them at my feet. Their jaws are ever open I pray my soul to keep. Let me run a while more let me out pace my rising fear, though this may be the end dear it seems my death is here.

I see them coming closer I see my rising fears. I see my hand upon them as they are ever drawing near. I fear this is the end love. I fear my death is here. The water is a rising and the tides of dark are near. I see them coming closer, these are my rising fears.

The dawn is never coming, the shadows have arrived. My fears have risen true, the darkness did survive. I fear this is the end love, my death is truly here. These were the ones I ran from, they were my rising fear.

 

Empty Night

I sit and stare at the fears I feel and understand my lack of worth.

The shadows that dance and climb across my back titter and laugh as I try to beat those voices back.

Doomed to fail, doomed to die the point is empty, the room is white, nothing persists, just empty night.

Nagging Thoughts

​There are times, not often mind, that I find words wandering through this wretched form of mine. Not quite the same as the usual flow, nothing happy mind you but nothing so dark or damming as those I ussually know and, if I were honest, I’d say it’s more a question instead, nagging thought that never quite recedes to the back of my head.

Why, when I look around do I see no one near, why can’t I bare the thought, the utter fear, of letting one in, letting them close?

It’s a question with no answer, nor no intended response. For the closest to answering it I’ve gotten is in the asking though even that is quickly forgot.

I suppose the closest I can come to letting one in is letting myself out through words upon the page, to jot down the nagging thoughts to quicken their age, whittle and wither them down to be almost not, just a passing shadow on a cloudy day. Never remarked upon and rarely noticed but I suppose I’ll have to be honest with myself at some point, how ever that time is not yet upon us.

Only I Remain

There is only I, for We have vacated and They have left, the husk that was known has long be gone to shadow and waste for Me has gone to take to task Who, those that dared destroy the Us by siding with Them. Shadows and tatters and little bright fetters, only I remain, to sing a tune and dance at noon while drinking the moon away.

I remain to sing and dance, sing this tune, and I can eye the world view, see the pollution of the that was once belonging to My or Me, either or don’t you see? I can see just fine, and yet at times I perhaps wonder if this poison has caused me to be blind, the images a perception of a hallucination of a fevered troubled mind, as I dance at noon and sing this tune, with only shadows and tatters and little bright fetters to call a place of home.

But Me was cruel and They were quite mad, Us was foul and Them never cared to say a kindness or offer a passing aid, perhaps perhaps I’ll sing them back one day, with this tune I forgot but remembered but only just made. Cobbled together of broken pieces of shadows, little tatters of light and bright shiny fetters I’ll simply dance and dance until all comes back, and They returns and Me is new, Us and Them no longer fight but become We once more, and perhaps with this I will be restored and eyes will see clear past the haze the shady dream scenes of troubled tortured days that pass at night in tattered painful frights. Yes, until then I remains, to sing this tune and dance at noon and drink the moon away.

 

Chorus of Echoes (Thoughts on Music)

The echoes reverberate all around, the chorus of music, that symphony of sound.

The choir does sing and the band does play and all we want to do is dance to the tune, to sing and sway.

The echoes reverberate all around, the chorus of music, that symphony of sound.

It worms its way inside my heart, inside my soul, breaking through that dark and sorrowful glow, until once more the smile within again does revive enough to show.

The smile does gleam as I sway to the sound, as I move to the chorus of echoes, that symphony that does cradle and surround.

Music is a relief, a release and way to meet, a way to meet my muse I love, that muse I adore.

Who once again rests upon my shoulder, whispering sweet inspiration into my ear one more.