by
rgpage



In this quiet time of night, I lie alone and prey to the bitter pain of
joy's absence. Lost in my mind's shallow thoughts the sharp fragments of
happy memories since shattered prick at the sensitive fringes of my sleep.

Sleep: Nature's sanctuary

A quiet haven, an island set apart
from the daily consciousness of life
where my thoughts may at last run free.

An island with white sandy shores as
far as the eye can see. Blemished only
by my solitary figure walking the blue
water's edge.

And the forests of my paradise, their
deep green density gives substance to
my world. Often I stop to ponder their
far reaching greenness.

The warm subtle breeze carrying the
fragrance of this foliage across my
face, fills my nostrils with the pleasures
of nature.

And occasionally a gull overhead,
drifting unchallenged on the soft
warm currents of the azure, as free
in his world as I in mine; lends companionship.

All of the sudden in the beat of a heart,
from no where a large black cloud appears
to smother the sun's warm light, turning
the blue sky and green foliage black
and the white sand that I once walked
upon a cold gray.

And just ahead of me lying there in
death's humiliation, my winged companion;
soaked and scorned at the dark water's
edge.

I awaken:

This cold room and bed the greatest part of my conscious moment, and the
sound of a distant train bell mocking the destruction of my comfort;
its havoc upon my sleep done it now moves on. Saddened I once again wade
through the shallow bogs of my loneliness, and the pains of memories of
the love and life i'd wasted return. This painful sleepless night a most
cruel retribution for my past. So firmly entrenched it seems I may never
return to my paradise; yet remain in this cold room to suffer the long
night's tortures.

Returning:

The warm sunlight, and gentle caress
of the water's pulse upon the white
sand.

And overhead my pure white friend
again drifts on the warm currents of
air, heralding not my return
but praising my presence....

...for my presence alone, gives
life to this warm yet oh so precariously
balanced paradise.

The white beach with its warm sand
leads me on my journey to the morning,
as I walk the blue water’s edge.

I wish I could forget you, leave behind the memories like you left me, but I can’t. You’re in the air I breathe, cutting up my lungs like pieces of glass and vodka drank all too quickly. Your scent is in my clothes and on my bed, snaking your way into my dreams at night. You’re in the coffee that I drink after sleepless nights; bitter and cold on my tongue but with the possibility of delicious warmth. You’re in the paths that I trudge down every day, reminding me of the times we spent there and the feelings that are now lost forever. I hate that you left me like this. All of these empty promises and a void so large no one could dream of filling it. You must not have ever loved me, because if you had it would have been impossible to just leave like you did, taking all of my heart with you. Packing it away in your suitcase along with the shirt I gave you and the books I’d lent. What did you do with the pictures of us? Would you try to forget and leave them in their frames, or did they not mean enough to you to even worry about and were thrown carelessly in the bottom of your bag? I hate the gaps you left in me. I’m broken and damaged now and you left with the cure to fixing me. This lovesick pain is getting tiresome and I hate that it isn’t wearing on you too. I thought I was someone you couldn’t live without. You sure as hell were to me. And what’s saddest of all is that if you came back now, I would run and throw my arms around you. Because I’ve already fallen as far as I can, there’s no need for me to be cautious now for I can’t slip farther down than I have. I would love to be someone that you need. Someone you can’t live without. I would be honoured to be the person you look at, the way that I looked at you. But I was just a passing spark for you, and you were my light. Just take back the memories like you took back everything else.

It’s the third of April and I was there
Sitting still, wondering
Observing the lifeless environment that surrounds me
And I simply couldn’t help but think
How did it all come to this
And why

It was exactly a year ago, during April, too
A blossoming sense of the beginning of new life
Little did I know
There was something even more beautiful than the flowers and trees
Something more serene than the feeling of crisp air and bright yellow sunlight
Little did I know that such a lively season
Was above, beyond, and even better than the liveliest things combined

Within three months after, it was mid July
And by then things only got more astounding
“Breath taking”, even
I’ve come to known this cheerful atmosphere’s smiles
Laughs, and confidence, and everything that makes it the amazing familiarity within me
And it was charming and it was lovable
Just like the warm breeze and chilly nights
What a wonderful thing to learn true happiness from the happiest surrounding itself
At this point all it ever was, was everything but sorrowful

Oh and November rolled around
And as leaves started to hit the bottom
Trees started to give up, and flowers started to disappear
So did it
So did it
This vicinity, of all the happiest vibes
The sweet turned to bitter
Just as the blossoms turned to gloom
It fell into a million little pieces
And all they could do was shatter it even more
And all they could blame was itself
All they could judge was nothing but the setting
And the thing that was once like sunshine
Turned into ice cold
Who would’ve guessed
That the happy atmosphere they once knew
Was this dark hole sucking itself into it
And who would’ve guessed
That the strongest, too, break

It was February and
It was the most similar thing to an incomplete thought of train
It was February
And everything was completely gone
The fragrance of what were once the roses
The scenery of what were once the moving lakes
The warmth of all the components of happiness
Its warmth
They were gone too
Too soon, and too fast

And now it’s the fourth of April
I’m still here I’m still rationalizing
I’m still thinking over
Onto why
Why am I the only one left
Is it really fair to leave me the same
Just when everything else had changed

"a canvas, which reflects
sunlight in rays unseen
before submitting itself to a life of color"

Razelle McCarrick
--------------------------------------------------
From memory she painted me,
Tho we had never met.
She painted my biography
On an easel of paper, brushes of pencil,
Exposed, bereft, inexorably delighted
At being dissolved in words that were not mine.

My annotated notes herein ascribed
To her revelations of my secreted stories,
Were written as I gazed upon the multi-blues of
California's beaches, neckline decorated with
Strands of white pearled beaches
Opposite contusions, bruises of
Orange terra cotta roofs, a burnt coral,
Colors that demanded attention, preservation,
Salutations, all hail the penetrating gaze of
Razelle, betrayer and savior.

His moniker was a borrowed line,
Still crazy after all these years,
How could this unknown girl of twenty two
Clear capture, undress me in the poetry of her canvas,
The instant and constant self-examination,
The rapture when transcending the fears
Instilled from birth of how I ought to be,
Which sixty two years on, the wrestling never ends.

Color me flesh nude,
Color me blue bottled,
Red ripped asunder,
The sweetness ascribed to my love poetry,
A subtraction of the bitterness of a failed life.
Colorist of my seams, my woven words,
I am white now, my canvas completed,
Waiting another poet to write over it,
And chaining new words to what was writ.

N.M.L.

-------------------------------------------------------

Razelle McCarrick · Sep 21, 2010
Biography of a Man
Someone wrote a biography of a man. Said he liked to write poetry and spend time in nature. But there are many things its readers will never know about. The streams of thought, the analysis, confusion, the Sadness, sprinkles of joy, the Transcension. A strange man he was..sweetly strange, but strangely bitter. At odds with the halves of himself..or perhaps thirds. But who will know? Someone wrote a biography of a man, but didn't say he was crazy. Or that he had a sharp mathematical mind and tried to add up the components of life to find it wasn't an equation in the first place. It was omitted that he was not merely a man, but of some other kind, often missing his home and his people, though he didn't know who they were. They didn't say when he became deaf, that he still played his favorite songs because he could feel them all the same and see them in colors. And no one knew that he refused to write in pen, but pencil only because one day his work would be rubbed away by the sands of time, just like his body. Someone wrote a biography of a man, but there was no account of what he did on a beautiful day, like the time he sat by a stream pondering his life and rewrote the biography of a man.

You were taken away
Before I knew what I was trying to say
And you were lost
Slipped away dangling on the end of a rope
Your excitement was bitter denial

You made me happy oh
So happy we were
Girl you made me smile
You made me happy
Then you were taken away

You made me cry
And die slightly
For so long
Every day
Over a sweetheart taken away

Your momentum shattered
Like bone pulverised
And digging razor sharp
Claws into inflamed
And angered flesh
You lost your direction
You lost my enthusiasm

You made me happy oh
So happy we were
Girl you made me smile
You made me happy
Then you were taken away

Your mouth was poisoned
With paralysis meant for another
You had no say
No way to surrender
I tried I tried
My darling I tried
But victims are silent to tyrants
And yours was a silence long-lived
In agony

I tried I tried
I'm sorry my darling

You made me happy oh
So happy we were
Girl you made me happy
Then you were taken away

(08.12.2012)

and for a moment there our hands almost touched

but I didn't know what to say
it was late and we were both drunk
the sky had been dark for hours
and everyone inside the house was loud and
I could barely hear myself think

and I wanted to tell you
so much it hurt my chest
and the ice unfolded in my stomach
and killed all the butterflies

but I knew you'd never think of me
that way and so we just sat
on the railing outside some kid's house

and I swallowed all the love I felt for you
bitter and writhing and alive in my throat

and stayed silent as the sun came up