My convictions were so strong, I had finally figured out life, my pain had ceased and my outlook was once again positive.
My concrete ground has crumbled; I trip as my feet are caught in the cracks as I walk past.

Before I envied those who had, and despised being the one without.  Then I gained, and stitched my life’s organ on the fabric stitch by stitch, painstakingly sewing myself my own vulnerability with each day.  There, my greatest strength became my greatest weakness.  When the hand came down and ripped out my needlepoint, it effectively tore out my very life’s blood.

A wraith, I floated though a land no longer my own.  I was a mere shadow of myself, the person I had been a thing to be mourned, but I could not perform even this simple task, for I had no way to generate the necessary emotions.


                               Never trust, for in doing so there is nothing to be gained, and all to be lost.


                                                            ­        But still, I endured.
                    I struggled forth, all of my strength devoted to placing one foot in front of the
                                                            ­                   other…
                                                            ­               day by day
                                                            ­              hour by hour
                                                            ­          minute by minute.

                                                            ­       And I moved forward.

Like a fairytale princess waking from the enchanted sleep, I opened my eyes and for the first time in months looked around.
                                                            ­                   I was me.
                                                         I was not lost, nor sleeping, nor dead.
                               I was very much alive, and all the wiser of what waits on the other side.

                                                         I AM NEVER GOING THERE AGAIN.

I dug through the trash, searching for the remains of my once-beating embroidery.  Between the banana peels and non-recycled water bottles I found the scrap of material, tattered at the edges and unraveling at my touch.  I picked it up, and pulled out my needle and thread, setting to work once again.
This time the task was purposeful.  I took off my shirt and pushed an arm through the sleeve, grabbing hold of the end and then pulling back, turning it inside out.  There I began to sew, using each stitch as a reinforcing shackle, holding the artwork prisoner.  Though confinement is not pleasant, it’s safe.
That’s what matters.

                                                             ­                           Right?

I was strong.
I went without, and did not desire anything different.
I needed nothing else, and my convictions strengthened by the second.
After all, it can’t be a poor philosophy if it ends the pain.

Why do you look at me like that?
I am right!  I will never again be vulnerable, open to such cruelty.  Don’t say that!  What do you know anyway?  How could you possibly give me advice: you, who has everything?  You, who lives the life my foolish, naïve self once dreamt of?

                                                         What compels you to wield the jackhammer?

You could’ve
Strengthened me with kindness
Given me back my worth
Empowered me by your love
Unearthed the beauty that I didn’t know was there
Renewed me with your love

But you looked away

Now I see
I am nothing without you
Weak, fragile
Unable to rise on my own
Inadequate

I was broken and empty
Only you had the power to make me whole again…

…and only you left me here, incomplete.

Every noon we sit for food,
sit in chairs cold as tombstones
even after waiting in the sun.
On cloudy days they are ice
and we wonder why the wood
and iron have so much hate.

I believed only men could hate,
and pondered while having my food.
We only bring bowls made of wood
as they don’t mark the tombstones,
but like the chairs they are ice,
unaffected by the sun.

My thoughts fixate on the sun
and how light does not wash hate
but should be melting the ice
while we prepare our midday food.
Still cold are the pieces of wood
we use, and the dark tombstones.

Now I know that the wood
is simply blocked from the sun,
and the heavy tombstones
siphon off of our hate
to use as bitter food
to help them maintain the ice.

I came to realize the ice
is not only in the wood
but covering our food,
defying the warmth of the sun.
We realize that our hate
is why there are tombstones.

All the hard etched tombstones
are now three feet beneath ice
next to us, and our hate
in the iron and wood.
We pray for brighter sun
and some stronger food.

But heavy food won’t delay our tombstones.
Nor the brightest sun melt our ice
stuck in wood boxes, strengthened with hate.

In this world, there is only the night
The towns are desolate and barren
A full moon sits atop its pillar of light
Lost souls wander, seeking their Charon

(The world around here is starting to change
Ruled by men wearing suits and ties in the open
And hooded robes with pendants off stage
Gathering for rituals to leave this world broken)

Chaos reigns where the monsters we created
Ran rampant, finally free from their abyss
No matter where you go here, you'll find traces
Of the destruction and death they left in their bliss

There are others like me, traveling the roads
Searching for those who are responsible
For this tyranny within all of our souls
But I know that only I made that possible

I used to be a king of some land here
But was overthrown by own madness
The face of a man I thought I knew leered
I see now that man was myself

Now, cities lay smothered in debris
And the roads bare no souls
As the leaves fall from the trees
I take my leave from the knoll

I travel without a sound for quite some time
These worn down shoes still on my feet
Carry me where I believe I will find
Some piece of me I swore was obsolete

Something more horrible than anything imagined
More destructive than atom bombs or meteor showers
Something more powerful than anything crafted
More structured than those who built these towers

It wants to tear me apart
It wants me gasping for air
Down on the ground, cluching my heart
Watching the pain spread everywhere

The time as has come for the final clash
(I don't know if I can win)
Between the most sinister piece of my past
(I am strengthened from within)
And though I might lose against this beast
(Your light is still guiding me)
I'll fight my hardest at the very least
(I'm just searching for the opportunity)

the layers unfold like spring time flowers
aching to be viewed
by sunlight eyes
a winter spent
under the heavy hands
of the foundry
shaped and strengthened
until it is finally ready
to steal the breath
from your lungs
and make your heart
come alive

To the Noble One, Him I will call SIR:
Inspire us with your Legacy, dear Captain of the Plym!
May your Spirit live on; Your Soul everlasting
That Generations from and beyond your Lineage
Will learn from your Values and carry through
The Traditions of Love, Health, Honour and Family.
So it shall be.




Even as your House sleeps beneath the Cool, Earth-Blanket
You can hear your Three Soldiers cry and pledge their Acclaim:
One already conquered the Waves; Ready to fulfill your Dream with Gold,
The Other strengthened His Will; Bracing for his Chosen Path;
And the Youngest - your Lamp-Bearer - calm but determined in His Goal,
Kept His Journal's Promise; And resolved to face the World.




Finally - the Endearing One - whose Tears She held for Breath,
Placed Twelve Pink Carnations on your Blanket; One Stem for each Moon,
And for each Moon the Leaves added another Fruit to her Basket
Remembering their Heart's Grown Tale; And Seeds burst into Bloom.




And as They began to retire from this Love-Worn Day,
With the Eldest remembering his Assignment to Drive
The Twelve Pink Carnations suddenly sprang-up to Play,
Speared their Roots to the Ground; And used the Soil's Feet to Jive
To that Lonely but Powerful Hymn of Praise:




"Thank you, dear Heavens, for this Wonderful Father!
Thank you for the Years, Months, Hours and Minutes spent with Him!
Bring the Captain to his Bounty, O Mighty Roar of the River!
Feed Him with the Light that only Shines from Within!"




And as They left, smiling, turning the Page without regret
The Sexton stood nearby, witnessing the Event
Of the Family resolved to rest and celebrate this Day,
Remembering the Noble Deeds of how this Man forged and lived
And the Sexton, in his home-grown Promise,
Wiped the Father's Stone with an Ivory-Cloth and placed it to his Chest:




"To Live my own Tale; To Write my own Page,
With you as an Example on how to make it the Best!"




Thus the Song ends; With him retreating to the Tree,
Showing his Fruits of how he can be Devoted as HE.

There came a time in my life
When I had to leave the past behind
and start everything anew
But I shall never ever forget
Those who at that moment
failed to stand by my side
Especially the ones
who gave up on me
And therefore, dumped me.
Thank you for dumping me
You’ve helped me to grow
Thank you for leaving me
You’ve strengthened me,
some how

Rough breaths escapes me,
dashing through the shadow'd night;
My mind is triggered by a known scent,
as are the others who soon redirect,
towards what we all know is a common goal;
Survival.

Claws dig into the dirt,
springing me forward faster and faster,
eyes glinting brightly in the darkness.
Someone caught sight, a howl sounds,
speeds increase with strengthened bounds,
towards what we all know is;
Survival.

Determination radiates from all,
coming together slowly and surely,
power pulsing and connecting us.
Right in front of me is the target,
I lunge in and latch on,
confirming that we all get the common necessity;
Survival.