To whomever is reading this,
First off, let it be known that I do not seek attention, nor do I wish it even in the slightest. See, I most certainly do prefer to be on my own. The spotlight's far too bright anyway. Or at least, that's what I'm trying to tell myself. However, I still can't seem to shake the feeling that this could very well be a cry for help, and that somehow, these words are my last hope. But then again, it is just another humid night, and maybe I'm only writing to make use of my time as I've come to the realization that I won't be falling asleep at any point soon.
I thought I was doing better, I honestly did. I'd started talking to my friends again. Laughing, sharing jokes, maybe even throwing in a genuine smile every once in a while. I mean, I sure as hell knew that I still had a long ways to go, but, things were finally starting to look up for me. Or so it seemed.
What I've never been able to quite fully understand, is how quickly everything can change. In the blink of an eye, really. Life is not a constant; it's a rollercoaster ride filled with ups and downs and bumps and turns and highs and lows and scary moments. A good day can turn into a horrible day in just a fraction of a second, because that's just the way it goes. We're supposed to grin and bear it because, well, we have to. Things change and people change, and life doesn't stop for anybody.
But tell me, what happens when it's a bad day after a bad day after a bad day? What happens when your friends give up on you? When there's no more jokes to be told and a fake smile is the only thing that will force the corners of your mouth to curve upward? See, maybe I was wrong before. Maybe life really is a constant sometimes; because it seems to me that all I've got are constant feelings of darkness. Depression. Loneliness. Regret. Hatred.
I don't hate the world though, trust me. It's a beautiful place. And maybe, just maybe, if things get better I'll sail the seven seas and travel to all the different countries and just let the greatness of this world engulf me and swallow me whole. I'd like that, I really would. You see, I love this world. It's above and beyond anything I could ever imagine. I don't even hate life, for that matter. The very fact that we are here today has got to be the biggest miracle there is. But then there's my life, which is a whole different story.
Don't get the wrong idea though. I am not complaining about my life. I have a roof over my head, I have food to eat, clean water, an amazing family, and so much more. There are children in this world who I'm sure would love to be me; children who don't have the money to attend school, or even to eat a decent meal. There are people getting raped, assaulted, bullied, and treated poorly every day. I am so lucky that I don't have to deal with any of that. So, why am I so unsatisfied? Why can't I just be grateful for everything that I have?
The thing is, I hate myself. Not only that though, I hate the way I've chosen to live my life. I hate the person looking back at me in the mirror each day, and I hate these thoughts in my head; screaming insults at me every second, loud enough to drown out everything that is good. I've forgotten how to appreciate the little things; like the fresh smell after a day of rain, or long walks on the beach, or laying down on cool grass to look up at the stars on a hot summer night. I guess I'm just too preoccupied with the things I should have done or shouldn't have done, not even thinking about the things that I still can do.
I'm a disappointment. A failure. I have put humans to shame. Why am I still here, when I clearly do not belong in a world of such beauty? Everything I touch gets spoiled; even myself. I should never have been born, but I was. And here I am still, but for what reason? What good can ever become of me? Should I just end it all right here and now, or would that do more harm than good? I don't know...
What I do know is this: I used to have hopes and dreams, always wishing that things would turn out in the end. But it's different now. I'm plummeting down into a tunnel of darkness, and the light that once could be seen near the end is now burnt out. I have no way of escaping.
Hope all is well on your end.
Carry me into the soft light of evening, let it fall on me
And make my eyes shine, and look on you, as those whose thoughts
Have meant so much to both of us, and the gaze seeing you,
As you smile your quick smile, and make your face, reflect the field
On which I, have been the one who wins, the one
Who almost loses; until I see your eyes, and the permutation that is you.
Carry me close to almost darkness, as the feeling of you takes hold, and
Sings its quiet song of romance, and feeling for myself, of everything
In me, that belongs to you, which in itself is everything that I am made of,
For you, the ceaseless-being who’s catching smile and feeling touch,
Pull us together; seeming to find the line of communication without speaking,
The pull of music played without sound, the completeness, of holding one forever.
Carry me into the black, the color that expels all color, by making it fade away.
Take me into your totality, to the expansive room where wind and air, and thoughts
And dreams, all come together, like cymbals crashing in silence, like warmth
Falling into coolness and the destiny finds itself as much a part of the beginning
As it finds itself in the peak of being one together, and finding the world a vapor around
That feeling, of being the one carried, softly by you, into the night.
One moment I'm fine
The next I find myself on the floor soaked in tears
You pick the time when you want me to notice you
I was doing just fine until I saw your eyes
It's been months without your touch
It's been hell, but I've been tough
I know there's a reason
For every little thing
I just want to know what happened to you and me
Uncovered valleys, plains and mountains,
hungry for the soft touch of rain showers,
pester again while lying like bare clouds,
blanketed with passion of sweet romance,
In the white mist, dropping down at dawn
A dream emerge in mind, to be with you !
Your eyes dance
I can't tell if its because you're so high
On your dope
Or there's the slightest hope that i actually make you happy
I see you choke
Because of the smoke
Or maybe there is the possibility my touch has brought a lump to your throat
You lick your lips
You are hungry
For another hit
Or could it be your just desiring to taste a bit of me
Your nostrils flare
Taking in the skunky hot air
Or what if you just caught in the wind my strawberry scented hair
Whatever it is that makes your eyes light up and you face emerge with delight
I am thankful
You never more beautiful than when you are so perfectly in paradise
Get in touch with your inner-demon.
I found mine,
He's not a bad guy,
He showed me the ropes,
Tethered to the sky.
in the heavens above,
Chained to the sky,
Bound to the air,
Open a tear.
Skybound to the future,
The past under the sea,
The contextual present holds the key.
chartered the globe.)
Just underneath his Wickett tree
Douglas Milford died, you see.
He died the way old men die
When pausing deep within a sigh.
And there he stood and watched
The world, his world
Into the deep, the darkest,
Empty, soulless shade.
Shaded well, and sadly so,
For Douglas Milford discovered secrets
All dead men come to know.
That time, she waits for no one.
And that it was time to go.
Time called him
And Douglas Milford heard
And empty word-
'Follow,' she said,
And Milford knew
It was but one more thing
He was required to do,
And he felt that lingering,
Like the gentle turn
Of a gossamer wing.
And Death paused,
At a raggedy pond,
And said, "You must leave
Your dreams here,
Before moving on.
What you were in life,
That emotionless shell,
You cannot be in death.
It will not do you well.
So discard it right here,
And we'll be on our way.
It is part of the fee
To the price you must pay."
And so Douglas Milford
Collected each dream
Into a small satchel
He'd taken along,
And he poured them inside,
Every hope, every scheme,
Every wish, every want,
Every childhood song.
And he wrapped them up tight,
Without any delay.
And then he watched Death
Simply toss them away.
"Death is unkind,"
He thought with a sigh,
Not quick to noticed
There was no longer a sky.
And that the air
Rusted metals and soot.
And the road was not easy
To travel barefoot.
He was poor
And not so right.
His boney feet
So thin and small
Did not show
He'd been quite large in life,
For, now Douglas did not seem so tall.
The cool wind against his face
Carried such a nasty sting,
His mind thundered in a rush,
And he remembered
Every little thing.
Ten years old he stood
And saw his mother cry,
And somewhere deep inside he ached
As he watched again his father die.
And his little baby sister -
Who came with the harvest moon,
Faded into the red and cold and gray,
Called away far, far too soon.
It was a pain that he could
And he cursed himself and
And there Death smiled,
For this pain had cut him
Like a knife.
"Why do I have to cling to these
Damned and fool-hearted memories?"
And he shivered with a quiet fear
As he wiped away a tear.
And Death told him,
"They haunted you in life, my friend.
And they'll haunt you to your very end.
They are the Ghosts in life
You could not change.
Cancel out or rearrange.
You've trained yourself so very well -
With your selective memory.
And you've crafted yourself quite a cell
By seeing only what you want to see.
All these years you've carried these
Little haunts you've hid so deep,
And you never could forgive yourself
For sins you did not plan to keep.
I am afraid they'll linger in your heart
And echo back from time to time-
It is the price you have to pay
When a haunt of guilt clouds up your mind."
And images danced against
The shaded thoughts within his head.
Every cold and empty thing
He'd ever briefly said.
Those words he'd shared with strangers,
Was he just arrogant,
Or completely blind?
Far too many moments when
All that he spoke
Was heartless and unkind.
Will they haunt me too? he thought,
Damn this vile retrospection.
Must I drag up everything
Accursed with indigestion.
There must be something good I've done
That Death cannot steal away.
Some memory locked so deep inside
The fates cannot betray.
And there he saw a spark of good,
A hint of gentle grace.
Was that Grandma? he wondered
As he saw her rosy face.
She shined with such compassion,
He longed for her embrace.
Her smile was so welcome
She brightened up this
But something in his mind snapped back,
And offered no reprieve.
"You are no victim, Douglas.
So do not grieve.
In life you lived just for the day.
You did every single thing your way.
You had no faith, and damned to hell
That eternity the preacher's sell.
You cared less for those with less than you-
And you cannot return to fix that.
It's a something you can't do.
There's so much you had no faith in,
For it wasn't your ideal.
But just because you don't believe in it,
Doesn't mean it isn't real.
This is your inheritance.
And you've worked hard for your reward.
You've hidden all your fortune,
And this it where it's stored."
And Douglas Milford rested some,
As if the day was finally done.
His bones, they ached,
His knuckles bled,
And there was a pounding
In his head.
And he swallowed dry the metal air,
And imagined a softly moving sea,
And tried to dream that he was there,
Still underneath his Wickett Tree.
That upside where it was cold and gray
Blue sky still welcomed in his day.
And that this ground,
Just shards of broken glass
Were soft and cool as new grass.
He tried to drift into his dream
Of peaceful quiet on a hill,
That gentle breeze that carried every
Song sung by the whippoorwill.
He wanted blue sky overhead,
And crickets chirping by his tree.
He longed to hear a story read
About how good a life should be.
But the jagged thorns that pricked his heel
Brought him back to skies of gray,
And to the shaded shards he knew as real,
That Douglas Milford died today.
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"For death begins with life's first breath
And life begins at touch of death."
I will never, ever, ever let
Bertram touch my alphabet!
Late, late last September he
Dented up my brand new E.
And scuffed up half my shiny J,
And almost busted up my K.
Now Bertram, oh, he's sore at me.
He's angry as a kid can be.
Since now I'll never, ever let
Bertram touch my alphabet!
Copyright © 2013 Richard D. Remler
"We worry about what a child will
become tomorrow, yet we forget that
he is someone today."
This letter was not meant for you
it was meant for me with you
to that crystalline time when we were two
before the shattering was through.
The mornings in
when we lay oblivious to the shuffle and the city din
when the weight of the world was still
not enough to budge us a single inch
from between the linens.
So I recollect
all the fragments I thought I left
I'm not one to dwell but what else
is left for the lonely boy at the bottom of a well?
But now there are three
There's you and there's me
and there's who we could've been
And I've not spoken to him yet
as I'm not sure this specter is real
Or maybe I'm afraid to ask if he once half-lived,
was he thrown from the wheel
and tossed down the well here with you and them?
But I've fooled myself again
What I saw as a window
was only a mirror that needed mending
And what I heard as your voice
was always the wind
hurling back at me my own laments.
Beauty brutally murdered my captain
One touch, and the crew deserted
a hasty mutiny to an unknown island
Where I before with calm weathered
the waves, now the torrent upends
the bow, wrecked upon rocks
that could've been havens.
So I'm thrown from the sea to the sands
Left alive by a wiser hand than
I, doomed to make beach castles, just a man
mending the grains, seeing the slate
wiped clean again and again
forever banned from the mountain
and the densely wooded lands.
One day I'll abandon my post
cut short my careful tending
and set off from the coast
Leave behind the crooked lines
and SOS signs, the feeble moats
Face the interior, each step deep down
and further down into the jungle dark
and every fear the most
Hope beyond all Hope that all I own is Hope
and one day reach the sun, then I'll know.
And what keeps me shuffling through the dark?
The thought of you shuffling too
alone and apart
Not the thought that our end
will be as our start
but that the art
of the whole damn thing
is all we are.
I've forgotten the feel of your lips on mine
I've forgotten how soft your bed is
I've forgotten the sound of your footsteps walking towards the bed
I've forgotten the way you said I love you
I've forgotten the way you breathe when you sleep
I've forgotten your smell
I've forgotten your touch
I've forgotten your voice
I have not forgotten the way I felt
when you said goodbye