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Today, the sky is an ashen hue of grey.
Today, the sky is void of warmth.
Today, Christmas is a week away.
Today, the sky is weeping.

I stand in line at the checkout stand.
Two older women wait ahead of me.
My ears tune-in to their conversation.
They're talking about Connecticut.

"...they say he took his mother's life..."
"...went to the school and took the lives of 20 children..."
"...he went in and they said they heard popping sounds..."
"...they say it's the second to worst school shooting, ever..."
"...anyways, they say she was probably the first child to be shot..."

And there it was.
Good old American sentiment at it's finest.
Does it really matter who's innocent life was taken first?
Does it really matter?

So petty.
So insignificant.
Here we are, facing a tragedy... and then,
Here we are turning it into a competition.

Frustration hits me like a wave as I stand there in line.
My stomach twists because it's always the same.
My head swirls as I feel the earth spinning
It's always the same.

The sky still sobs as I leave the store.
The haze still haunts and the cold confirms.
I get in my car to drive away from the women.
I get in my car to drive away from the twisted sentiment.

Now I am standing alone in the rain.
The callous wind nips at my neck.
I stare at the rippling surface of the lake.
I watch the reflecting sky distort itself.

Somewhere out there people are suffering.
Around the world humans die every day.
But when it's here, the world morns with us,
And when it's out there, we pretend not to know.

--Christian J. Clark
My heart goes out to all those suffering from the senseless deaths of their loved ones in Connecticut, but also for those suffering across the globe. Dealing with the death of loved ones is never an easy task.
The spotlight's on you darlin' and it's making you blind.

Isn't this what you wanted?
An actress on the stage
(No wonder you can't see)
Swirl those hips around,  
Bare it all for the show
(Ignore my advice; don't listen to me)
Display all those bruises- all those bones
Take pride in the scars examined like stars
Drip your silver tears dry without sound

Scream and howl like a beast on the prowl
(I hate what you've done to yourself)
Hold that head high and show your strong side
(Then crawl away like you have no friends)
Double sided twisted figure turn around... turn around!
Pound those heels on the stage like a knife to my heart
(Don't be gentle, make it count)
Hang me from the curtains then take your bow
(There are better ways to **** a man)

The spotlight's on you darlin' and it's making you blind
(At least you can't see what you're doing)

--Christian J. Clark, 2011
Retrograded renegade
Bluntly severed runaway
Recomposing rogue of ruin
Rotting in the righteous rain
After the leaves and acorns
Yet before the frost and snow
They say it's only confusion
Artwork by Vincent Van Gogh
Through the blurs of unsettled motion
Vaguely with cloud covered eyes I see
A struggle to remember whatever happened
Interrupted by foreign memories
Not something from which you recover
Not something the curers can find
A plague without satisfaction
This is no cure for the colorless mind

--Christian J. Clark
Possibly the most emotional & cryptic piece I've ever written about myself
You smiled like I didn't know
Little did you know I knew it
Draw it up. Curl it back. Pearly whites are gazing
Blinding but I see right through
Perceptions hazy but the metaphors are blazing
The more you learn the less you know
Stay stupid. Stay green. Leaves change, then die you see?

So much for standing out. You think that's what it's all about
This circle of life only encircles so much,
So why wait when you can open that door yourself
Break it down. Shout it out. This is what we're all about
Leave 'em like you left 'em. Dice 'em into sections
Drill that tooth. Steal their truth. Thieve those diamonds. Pull 'em loose
Wrap them up like Mother Goose
Hide it then divide it but don't split that seed inside it
See it but don't buy it
Only see if you can try it

--Christian J. Clark
Oh no, dear Wonder boy
What happened to your wealth?
I walked down your isle today,
And scanned the starving shelves

Your "immortal" gold ******* has vanished,
And a famine has wiped out your bread
White powder collects in the corners,
Of a skeleton that's now nearly dead

A **** of flower erases your tracks
And just like that,
You're toast

--Christian J. Clark
Written in memory of Hostess Brands, 1925-2012.
I don't think I'll ever adjust
Nothing is how it was before
I look into the mirror and you stare back
But everything is different now

There are these moments...

You stare at me like you always do
Except your face is not the one I know
It's been replaced by a foreign mask
I'm always so shocked to see it there

Every time I see it, my stomach churns...

In these moments I feel myself falling
And it's not the good kind of falling either
Rather, the painful type that break bones
The crushing type that bursts organs

The heart being the first one to go...

I'm not sure why I look at you
And I'm sure I look like a fool when I do
Your eyes pierce right through me like I'm a ghost
I don't understand how I'm here but I'm nothing

Like a scribbled pencil mark that's been erased...

These are the moments that swallow me whole
I just don't know who's the Villain this time
Hearts built for love now poisoned by hate
Which one of us is the monster?

I can't decide, so I cry for us both

--Christian J. Clark

**"Darkness can only be scattered by light, hatred can only be conquered by love."
-John Paul II
Written during a time when I was dealing with the emotional struggle of falling out of love & the painful complications that follow.
They say that sin is how you get in
Who knew it would be my escape?
I'll shed this skin and leave it behind
I'm coming home to claim my fate

I'm not a failure if I fail to quit
Hidden deep behind the veil
Vapor vexed in winter winds
Ignorance is a chosen cell

It's easy getting into Hell
Getting out's a different story
I have my ticket, I'm leaving now
I'm coming home to claim my glory

Fearing shadows I face the sun
Torrential raindrops build the flood
You can't erase these burning feelings
These veins do flow with ink, not blood

--Christian J. Clark
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