Walking in dim thoughts
with the sound of rain outside.
The dripping pattern takes
me on a pitter-patting journey.
I'm neither here, nor there,
and yet somewhere
I must be.
Craving to be healthy,
in mind, body and soul.
Content perhaps?
Aware of who I am
and who I will
always be.
Is anyone like this?
Really?
Or are we a collected
mass of android
arms reaching
lamely for
robot parts?
Artificial emotions that
fester out like
***** mud shoes left
in the hallway.
We yawn internally
to avoid the truth
that we are bored
with one another.
Raindrops continue, as
does my doubting heart
as it wraps around
the possibility of
funerals and
Requiem Masses.
Long faces and
sighing masking
the indifference
of striving.
Together in mood
but far apart
in disposition.
Carry on, rain,
carry on. Slip
your wetness
against the dry spell
of my perception.
I can see. Or, I can
close my eyes to
imagine that the
tomorrow of thought
becomes the infested
reality I will be living.
I spend too many
careless storms wishing
for other days to arrive.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
Lucid dreaming is the doorway
to the unconscious.
So dream.
Do not stay closed
behind cement barricades
blocking the moon
from shining.
Live.
Each second is for you.
The tumbling of life
does not promise
anything.
In one breath
you can have
a time table
handed to you.
A distinct framework
of how much
longer you shall be.
Stay in illusion.
Keep in mind
that very little
is worthy of
being screamed about.
Politics
and
people games
are not
the substance
of existing.
Picture colourful images
that flutter
playfully
across the
mental horizon.
A traffic light
will
blink
red, yellow, green.
A noise
will dominate
the shading sky.
These mean nothing.
Moments of distraction
soon
gone away.
Focus on fantasy.
Allow yourself
the freedom to
celebrate
the essence
of harmony.
When you die,
it will be
your dreams
that are
remembered.
Breathe.
It's just
a bad day,
not a bad life.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
Whispers the heart, insisting and so soft,
"Life goes on. Death is not dying."
Faith, that is the message. Let His
will be done, however it works out.
Fears are there. Yes, they can consume.
They can strangle and inhibit the
very will to walk on. Ease them away,
He walks with you, soothing and firm.
We rumble through our eggshells,
rushing through buildings of steel.
Pushing, shoving, important in
our unimportance. Unbalanced.
We eat too much and love far
too little. Strain ours ears to
hear gossip and slander. Be
the image we pretend to be.
These are of such insignificance.
They are bottles of nothing, with
shaded glass. Emblems of issues
that are manufactured. Unfeeling.
The truth is in Him. When we
face trials of aggravations, tears
of lost hope, that is when we
need His care the most. Forgiven.
He has always been. He will
always be. He will glide the
care of the body if you give
Him the word. Yes, He answers.
So to Jesus, I appeal. I put my
trust and my fate. Though
blocked in fear, still I marvel,
that He is there for me. Amen.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
We are soldiers joined in battle.
Fighting a war, fighting a war.
We belong to one healing centre.
Fighting dying, fighting dying.
Tubes
and
needles
are
our
weapons.
Pills
our
defence
against
the
enemy.
The light shines in my eyes.
The bed I am on is comfort.
In my thought processes
are the many situations
I've collected in this life.
It's not been too bad,
this past I review.
There have been
some disappointments.
Not uncommon
nor unexpected.
But the happiness
outweighs
the
tears.
The
melodies
pleasant
to
the
ears.
I suppose I am ready
to be with my comrades
in the Armageddon of
this unholy war.
We are champions of pain.
Joining forces, joining forces.
We march in determination.
In our hearts, in our hearts.
Some of us shall fall
in this ongoing struggle.
We
shall
mourn
their
deaths
and
celebrate
their
courage.
Carry on beating the
drums of resistance.
Carry on hoping
for victories to be.
And
if
I
join
the
defeated,
if
I
die
before
my
time;
remember
that
I
tried
to
float the balloons
in the winds
of flying illusions.
Look for me
in
the
air.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
The sun shines through the
empty cross.
Stained glass windows
making salvation patterns
for the heart.
Christ shines in ever increasing
flashes of magnificence.
Hail Mary! Your Son is our God!
With Holy Trinity in union,
with souls seeking peace.
The Son of Man, the Son of God
revealed in ageless liturgy.
Hail Mary! Your Son has ascended.
Rosary glistening in hand,
as prayers are offered
in simple voice.
Chanting priest as conduit
to the transubstantiation .
Hail Mary! The Body of Christ is ours!
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
There's no necessity tor crying,
endless tears that
drop like mighty rain.
I have already passed the point
of existing in harmony
with the circle of health.
Better to cross over to the real world.
Leave the wringing of hands
to those who need to
advertise their melancholy.
Church bells ring, ponderous sounds
that champion the living
fabric of Holy Mother Church.
The true faith that guides its citizens
through the mess of the earth.
I celebrate with prayer.
I welcome the protection
of God in His ongoing love.
Crying does not revive the dead,
or bring solace to the dying.
Endless cups of wishes filled with
littered drops of gratitude.
Never ending liquids that wet the
dirt roads of ongoing traffic.
Follow me to my resting place.
Drop a flower on the ground.
If you must, cry.
Do so knowing
that the tears
are wasting
away and help
only the survivors.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are sleeping
like baby lizards in their caves. Breathless from
a day of pillage. Restful after a time of destruction.
Somewhere, on the other side of the hill, a boy
is playing in the woods. Caressing his manhood,
he becomes a symbol of self appreciation.
Be quiet. Don't disturb the boy in his game.
It is his only means of achieving satisfaction.
A reaction would disturb the molecules from
their expected conclusion.
The boy does not realize how close he is
to potential danger. If he awakens the
dragons, he awakens his death.
Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are dreaming
of future conquests. Illusionary REM's of human
body parts dancing in their heads. Helpless
after a day of mass frustration. Hopeless
after a time of complete desolation.
The boy is finished his game. He smiles
to himself at his clever disguises. Yesterday he
was a soldier in the war of indifference. Today
he is a hero, a legend in his own mind.
He screams in abandoned pleasure. He
yells because he can. Racing through the woods
until he comes upon the entrance to a cave.
Takes a breath, than slowly enters in.
The dragons are no longer sleeping. They are
preening their scales in preparation. Their red
soul-less eyes look at the boy. The boy, with
his brown empty eyes looks at the dragons.
None of them make a move.
Each of them recognize the emptiness of the other.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
The soldier cleaned his gun in anticipation
for the battle he would be fighting. His mind
was focused on his job. His heart was centred
on his illusions. Lonely soldier in a uniform
without a mind of his own. His officers
received their orders from somewhere else,
from men and women who were fighting a
war of greed. Death was nothing more than
a statistic which would be tabulated and
toned down for the media. Not good to let
the world know the actual cost of human
life in the adventure. A tear fell from his
eyes at the thought of how many men he
had killed. He remembered sitting in his kitchen
talking to his wife and making plans for
the future. That was until somebody
somewhere far away had determined
the future was not his to plan. So he worked
at his task in mind of constant wonder at
the waste he was trained to create. His
entire purpose in life was to **** and so he
killed as best he could. The faces of the
enemy reminded him of himself. Other men
who had sat at home with their wives talking
about their futures together. Such a waste of
young ambition by the old men and women who
sat comfortable in the governments of life.
Lonely soldier surrounded by his comrades
all of whom equally trained to hate and ****
Ah, but the bands would play and the magic
of hero dust would fall upon the shoulders
of the men at arms. How brave they would
be in the battle with their blood splattered
all over their clean uniforms. The soldier knew
he fought for a cause but it was odd that
the cause was never quite explained, save
for speeches on freedom and destruction
and illusions of happiness when the enemy
were all dead. Lonely soldier was startled by
an enemy as he cleaned his gun. The two
men glared at one another wondering who
would die first. Soldier and enemy came to
a major decision. Each stripped off their clothes
and stood naked in front of one another.
Two naked men. Without their uniforms.
Now which of them was the enemy?
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
The pain is so sublime
it is like a piece of fabric torn.
Morphine is the prescription
that is promised as relief.
I have a better healer,
a celestial figure of appeal.
Hail Holy Mother, Queen of Heaven,
I submit myself to you.
The pain increases,
the pain increases.
It keeps me awake at night.
I appeal to you, most Holy,
please comfort me.
Mother of God,
may my thoughts
dwell always on you.
Sweet ******
may my words reflect my truth
I'm lonely and alone on this
frustrating destination.
Crawling reluctantly,
towards the conclusion.
Afraid and disheartened.
Alone but for You.
You lead me to your Son.
You bring me to Him.
Mumbled thinking of
fragmented living drowns
out living as a real person.
Collecting stones of agony
that batters the walls of
resistance. It destroys
what it can not heal.
Thank you God.
Thank you for hope.
That is all I cling to.
Mary, precious Mary,
cloak me in your mantle
of promised protection.
Hail Mary,
Hail Mary,
Hail Mary.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
The blinds are closed.
Still a bit of daylight
filters through.
My hands, my "me",
invades the space.
The bed flutters in the
softness of the room.
Tracing my limp body with
my matted hand.
I feel death.
Sense it.
Wait for it.
My body will be so cold
when it ceases existing
.
It frightens me.
Saddens me.
Empty cadaver emptied
of my essence.
Without a sound,
my soul will depart.
I pray.
Beg.
Implore.
"Dear God, let it not be so."
But it must be as God decides.
Novenas and rosaries fervently said.
Muffled words that fall
like mud in the air.
When they come and prepare me
for my funeral,
I will not cry.
No. No tears.
Instead, embrace peacefulness.
Close the casket lid,
I'll be gone.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC