There is a day
for most,
or at least
too many,
where all the dreaming dies.
How sad,
to sleep,
and wake,
only to sleep
again,
with nothing
in between.
I remember when
each and every day,
I thought the next,
might be better.
No more,
I'll die
where I last sit
there's nowhere
else
to go.
Too old to battle
too old
to even
make
the effort.
I wish
I'd seen it
coming.
Prepared for it,
some how,
some way.
But no,
and so,
I sit,
in an empty
room,
lie
in an empty
bed.
Goodbye's
were said,
but not
acknowledged,
as all
my dreams
walked away.
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 3:02 PM UTC
(03/05/09
How long before the day ends,
and night begins,
do we begin to see it coming,
and think about days ending,
and forget to enjoy the time we have,
to dwell as deeply inside it as we can?
Wasted hours thinking about might be’s and could be's
and what might have been's,
as "now" and "are" pass by,
gone forever.
Whole years now gone in a sad pool
of despair and wishes,
never to return or be seen again,
a sin of worthless regrets and tears,
committed against one's life,
we did it to ourselves,
in the end,
while placing all the blame somewhere else,
on someone else,
and all the time it was inside us all.
Never looking back was a creed, a religion,
or so we said,
as we lived with the dead,
and never looked up from the ground.
I wonder at the stars and suns we never saw,
or rainbows..
all of them around us,
as much ours as anyone else's,
but refused and unopened gifts for most,
because we walked in shadows of our own making.
I wonder at the lateness of the hour,
and the day,
and the year,
I wonder... can I step into my now,
and leave what used to be behind?
Is the door closed to what might be,
like it is for might have been?
I hope not,
as night falls once again,
and dreams come of a life not lived,
and the world turns anyway.
JC 2009
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
There was a time,
though filled
and spent
in moments,
never days
and rarely hours,
when smiles
and warmth
existed.
A look,
or touch,
or a simple word
or sound,
was all it took
for pleasure,
brief though
it was.
Not now
no more,
some effort
is required,
to replace
the smallest
of deeds,
and all
while strength
declines.
How much
do I need
that smile,
any more?
Is it worth
the energy
spent?
I say no
and the need
has left me.
The Play
has had
its run.
Good night,
good bye,
so long.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
The loss of the Key
that was given to me
by the people who left me for dead,
Though lies still arise,
bringing tears to my eyes,
I face it without any dread.
The doors that stay closed,
while the words are composed,
remain behind walls in my Head.
And yet there remains
a balm for my pains,
and the Beast that must always be fed.
I pour on the page,
the source of my rage,
and cannot return to my bed.
I am not so insane,
to stand out in the rain
dripping blood, turning puddles to Red.
So come with me please
and cure this disease
of the people who left me for dead.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC
There never is,
nor ever was
a good time
for a bad time.
You take them
as they come.
It's a waste,
preparing,
or attempting to,
you can't see what's coming
anyway.
Enjoy the day
as it lays,
another cloud
is on
the horizon,
see it
or not.
Arise,
spit in its eye,
take it on,
without
flinching.
There's never
a good time,
for a bad time,
nor any time
to give in
not ever.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
Ah, yes,
"Some Gave ALL"
I saw it,
you never have
yet claim it
as your own.
It isn't,
it's mine
and mine alone,
at least here
right now.
And it
wasn't
GIVEN,
nobody GAVE
anything.
It was taken
with force
and violence
dragged
from
screaming
children.
"All gave SOME",
especially those
who saw,
and know,
what "ALL"
means.
You don't.
Wear your patches
and badges
and flags,
while puffing out
your chests
proudly,
in ignorance
of what you say
and believe,
and THINK
you know.
How sad,
your cheers
and ignorance
and jingoist
fervor,
allow more
to give
ALL.
I know,
you don't,
I saw,
you never did,
never will,
chugging your beer
in the club
or the bar,
on a Sunday
afternoon.
Funny what
a simple word
like ALL
can be
and mean
for the few,
as opposed
to the masses,
to the ignorant
and the blind
I wish
at night
that was me.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 8:01 AM UTC
It's come to pass,
towards the last,
the inevitability
predicted,
long ago.
A solitary path,
traveled alone,
in the dark
and unafraid.
I came
to here
purposeful,
and yet
unintentionally
in spirit,
if not
in body
or in mind.
No one else
laid the way,
or paved it,
rough
with stone.
No, that
I did alone,
a piece
at a time,
burning
all the
should haves
and could haves
and might have been's
on the way.
But then,
in truth,
was there ever,
really,
a choice?
Ask the Lion
if he hunts
to eat,
or to ****
and wait
eternally
for the
answer
that will
never
come.
I'm at peace
with what's lost,
and will never be,
as the time
to wonder
grows shorter
and moves
with speed and grace
to the end.
I give no time
to wishes,
or regrets,
I don't have
the moments
to spare,
not
any
more.
I'll say
the last
good night,
in my sleep
to the dark,
grateful
for the chance
to have played
the game
at all.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:47 PM UTC
There are places traveled,
dark places,
that stain your heart
forever.
Yet those who've never been
pass judgement
on how
you should be
afterwards
and forever.
Somethings you
just
have
to see
for yourself,
explanations fail
with
the spoken
word
no matter
the effort
made.
You can't
hear
colors
or smell them.
It's the same
with places
far away,
in the dark,
long ago.
There are
no words
adequate,
or perhaps
horrific
is better,
more accurate,
in its inadequacies.
I gave that up
long ago
in the dark
by myself
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
Maybe today was the time,
not yesterday,
and sunset becomes the beginning.
Maybe this was the time,
not before,
or long ago,
and today became the only.
Sunrise looks on sweetly,
but knows nothing of the day before it,
and the day before it is,
the living to be done.
Looking on is wishes,
looking back is what was,
and truth becomes the morning.
Hoping was nice in it's time,
and everyone has a tomorrow dream,
but Certainty has it's place,
and Reality can't be taken,
and nothing dashes knowing,
like the dreams of a child,
waking to an empty Christmas.
So maybe today was the time,
not tomorrow,
and yesterday was already.
But maybe today was the best of it all,
maybe this was the time,
and I missed it.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
Some men will travel to the top of the mountain,
in an effort to talk to the sky,
and maybe touch the clouds...
a wish they've carried since children.
But I, I've looked from the flatland,
and only dreamed of the trail
that leads to the clearest views of the sun
and maybe a final look to my soul.
No shadows there to block my sight
or hide the smallest parts in darkness.
I stand by the river,
and watch it grow,
from the falling and tumbling water
rushing down the sides of the mountain...
and wonder where the beginning is,
but never taking the trail to where it has to be.
Is it fear, or just a lack of effort,
or a matter of the heart,
that keeps me where I am,
and the knowing all so close?
But in the end, here I sit, looking up once again,
my answers wrapped in clouds
the sun throwing shadows on the ground,
a small chill in the air as they block it's warmth.
I hug my knees by the river,
wishing once again....
I lived at the top of the mountain.
The shadows grow and darkness comes early,
and the mountain brings the night,
blocking the light of the sun,
tears fall,
a slow walk to home.
The mountain still remains and waits,
for those who walk it's trails...
knowing it isn't me.
JC 2009
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC