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so
I have
done all the floors
removed weeks of built up nasty
washed the cabinets down
removed all the bacon drippings from
cleaned and refilled all the tito boxes
so they have fresh litter to soil again
disinfected the toilet
washed all the hair off the soap
down the bathtub drain
polished the keyboard and the monitor
knocked ten years it seems of cobwebs off
every wall
got all the dishes soaking then
I ****** up  and drank a beer
so I won't
get done today
who really cares
My voice fades...
Can you still hear me?
The masks are shattered.
The heart of Heartless
ripped out by it's own mask.

The pain is still..
I expected an eerie silence..
Or a merciless cold.
But I meet a loving warmth
with the subtle taste of tears as a response.

In this prison remains me.
Part of me left without letting me know.

The irony of iron bars..
it lingers with.. sadness still..
with pain and grief..
and silence..hesitant.. and insecure..

an abrupt end.
A shattered illusion
that was self imprisonment.

~ The convicted self.
a crooked ugly man walked up
and said "all hope is spent
i'll build a wall and save you all
and be your president

believe me, i can cure all ills
and make all merkins proud
if you'll just take this oil of snake
i sell to every crowd

for any lie becomes the truth
if you but scream it thrice
so plant the seed then others bleed
and you don't pay the price

come spend your vote to buy my line
of prejudice and hate
ignore the churl of all the world
we'll make our nation great"

a machinating woman comes
the way her husband went
"i've done no crime i'm next in line
to be your president

you see how he goes off the rails
and nothing said is true
i can't shoot straight, i fabricate
but never lie to you

lost last time when set to win
this time did what i can
and worked my scut to undercut
an inconvenient man

we're dealing from the bottom, folks
the country's gone to ***
i may not be the best there is
but i'm the best you've got"

so laugh about it, shout about it,
when you've got to choose
your **** is hoist on Hobson's choice
the poison or the noose
...going to the candidate's debate....

Will we ever have the ****** to vote for a third-party candidate?
He squeezed his voice out of the throat  
an old Dreadnought guitar
He bared his soul to anyone
who would listen to his psalms;
purging the torn an anxious silence within,
surrendering an unspoken heart in a song

Some days you feel
like you live too long
Watching the recurrent tides
recede and grow low
This life, such an unplanned journey,
given to lose what’s been lost once more

How many times
must a heart be broken?
To realize a heart heavy
won’t stop beating strong
Steal away the broken inside
these flesh forsaken walls;
breathe one’s last bated breath
in the peace of a song

Sometimes life falls
w a a a y y y y short of expectations
Though passing time
may assuage evanescent dreams,
there is a stillness that floods the moment
awakening a motherless child in a soul

Fate befallen a wordless silence
in the aftermath of finally letting go
Fingertips no longer calloused
Dreadnought wood dusty gone cold
Melancholy madness echoes unrequited

A lonely bird without a song ...


* September 2016 © H.  Rivers*
              all rights reserved
Peace
Rivers
~

our existence...
the unknowable slice,
this blue planet life
where we live, akin
to an infinitesimal,
myopic caterpillar, who
seeks what he cannot see,
answers to questions
he knows not exist,
in a language he
doesn't perceive
is limited in ways
he cannot conceive,
that he has not the words
to begin to comprehend,
or explain...

like the color of music;
the scent of blue;
the sound of the clouds;
the touch of a rainbow.


these are and life is
to him unknowable,
and just how stunning,
and very beautiful,
extraordinary incredible
...he is,
both now
and even more so intended,
is destined,
to one day become.

for today,
he merely
exists...
infinitesimal,
myopic,
caterpillar
that he is;

content to
admire the butterflies
as they soar
in their colors
and float in the mists
overhead,
just beyond reach...
and wonder!

~

*post script.

it is this writer’s belief that our soul is immortal, but that our attempts to understand, to explain or in any way convey to ourselves or anyone else what we see it to be, is equal to our ability to explain our existence here on this rock.... try or wish as we might, our capacity to do so falls far short, leaving us to simply dream, which frankly... i think i prefer to knowing.
He hugged me
Tears running down his face
I felt him shudder
For the whole human race

Just who condemned him
Has always been clear
The righteous
The believers
The possessors
Of fear

Yet sympathy
I felt
For the Devil
Himself
Because forgiveness
   Runs through my veins...
Traveler Tim

We pay our debt sometimes.
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