I am a boy With a man's desires;
Trapped in the nothingness that is my existence.
Ask no questions,
Tell no lies.
The law of omertà,
The golden leak through the dark clouds.
Truth versus honesty
Genius versus insanity.
The fear of being average versus the fear of the arrogant.
I've fallen,
Once, or maybe thrice.
I've never admitted to doing so
Because men don't like to talk honestly
And putting your business in the public's eyes
Is a crime.
Ridicule becomes the order of the day.
So ahead is the only hand I deal.
Like the stage plays of time past,
What you see is all you'll get.
I am the bronze head,
Age is nothing to me but a few brown patches,
Anew once polished!

Meaning of Requiem: A mass for the dead.

Winter's bidding;
Deep snow here, muddy pavements there.
Then, a procession of Roman Catholic members.
The big cross, the hymns and the dress codes are a huge give away.
The all black is a sharp contrast to the white snow covered country,
Or maybe it just serves to complement it
Like those little black poker dots that make white shirts appear natty and casual at the same time.


I struggle to watch the procession from above.
My office is on the third floor and I'm out for a smoke break.
I don't smoke, I just use that to get away from the drudgery that is my work.
The procession below reminds me of my co-workers - drab and solemn, all at once.
May the dead never have to confess how they truly feel about the burial rites that we perform at their funerals.

...

I was out till late last night;
Another citizen in the district,
Another observer minding his own business.

Life is difficult, life at times can be hard
Everyone is capable of having a rough start
Do not give up, slow your pace
Do not put your life to waste
One day will be yours to shine
Look at the puffin, taking one step at the time

the foreshadowing of the christened.
the tears of a beginner;
shoulders sagged,
Dark purple tinted bags under my eyes,
Swollen sinuses,
White parched lips,
The results of incessant weeping,
My only expression of profound hurt -
The fate of the pained;
The pain of an amateur;
Tomorrow is certain,
If only we will make it there.
Or maybe we will!
Yesterday is but today;
A continuation afforded us.
A continuity without guarantee,
With continuity, our only ally…
Today I cry,
I soak and bath my flesh with heavy, warm tears.
Tears of events past, of years long thought forgotten.
But I come to a close end.
I have seen the dark but now I must step forward.
For come the ‘morrow,
My tears shall be my greatest rival!

We were two kids just trying to get out,
nothing was what it seemed.
In all my dreams,
You were that singular constant
or as it turns out, that constant variable.
Your love was beautiful and distant;
But the other dreams meant nothing
if I couldn't have you.
For I am nothing without you.
Привет, привет.
Скажи мне кто твой любимый!

Everything else that I want,
I have.
They all think I have it all,
Tell me that they think I'm cool.
The pain I carry with me.
The emptiness that is slowly becoming a part of me.
The hole only you can fill.
How we used to laugh that your dad chose a German male name for you.
Где ты моё сердце?

I am a traveler commuting on life's rails,
going station to station.
Disembarking at different destinations,
each time spent differently.
The car can be claustrophobic with passengers,
suffocating me in anxiety.
Other times, just a few of familiar faces,
friends, families, locals, daily riders.
Some talking, of life, nonsense, all or nothing,
each making their way.
There are times of light, above ground and of sun,
the rest tunneled, falsely lit, dark.
The sights of open land, buildings, and of the day,
the faces of love, hurt, hurried and grind.
Day in Day out this cycle goes on,
different,yet the same.
I am part of this mass exodus to get somewhere,
yet my commute is my own.
At times I arrive with many at the platform
bustling towards their tasks.
Trains for life come and go, expresses to locals,
roaring with noise, movements, purpose.
However, there are times i am the only one there,
Occasional train, in silence, alone.
Those are the days that my commute seems fruitless,
leaving me to wonder,
Have I just been passing it all by?

© J.L.Gonzalez75 09/2016
* this is a rough edit... am not a poet, but just write.

The two-letter word for futility.
If the world didn't treat me unfairly,
If my wife hadn't left me, 
I wouldn't be a drunk.
If my father had worked hard,
I wouldn't be suffering today.
If, if, if.
What if you stopped if-ing and you sought to carve out your own niche in this world?
Just what IF you chose to be a better human?
What if you refused to let your past control your future?
Just what if?

And so I cast a forbidden shadow over her beautiful nakedness.
I was the one that took,
I got everything I ever wanted.
"Want everything, be contented with a few,"they murmured behind my back.
I didn't have anything so I took all I could reach.
I took so much from her that she couldn't give me anymore.
And then I let her go like a trash bag about to be dumped into a waste yard.
she called and it always went straight to voicemail;
She cried her heart out to all her friends and they all called me morbid and foolish.
They told her that I wasn't man enough for her.
Then she got the call and she instantly knew why.
Mom called her the morning that I died.
She told her about my illness and handed the letters I had written her after that night.
Somehow, I hoped that she'd understand.
I didn't want her to suffer like I did on that hospital bed,
My deathbed.
Where do you go when you go quiet?

You were like a natural disaster to our lives.

While we played in a field.

No warning.

You appeared...

You struck and we lay scattered on that field...

In tears.

Confused.

In pain.

Broken inside out.

No longer just children.

Victims to young to understand that we were forever changed.

To young to understand why we felt ***** and guilty.

The threats and fear, made us silent...

Fear and interrogation made me lie.

You left us in that open space forever, no matter where we went.

And our lives were taken...

Our parents were broken, because parents break when thier children are hurt.

And my lie...

My lie forever changed my protectors life.

My fear made me hurt another.

We were so young...

Some not old enough for school.

Our fear allowed the disaster to strike others...

Now as adults we know a new guilt.

But we were so young.

This very unnatural disaster still walks the earth...

Somebody gives this pervert comfort...

But we are forever changed.

Stronger today, yes...

But never again as free as before he stole our innocence.

This disaster turned our world upside down, and revisited us for years taking more of us each time he put his disgusting hands on us.

I'm not to religious, but I believe in God.

I have yet to know the reason for this, except that we are great protective parents...

And as I believe there's a God...

I know there is also a hell.

And while God tells us to forgive...

I have yet to forgive even myself for being so full of fear, because it allowed him to walk free and hurt us again and again, and others through time.

There is no part of us sacred or untouched by that evil...

No matter who knows our story, there's no person not even eachother who understands the depth of our individual torment.

The unfair torture of feeling an isolated, unexplainable, personal  taste of evil.

Like a natural disaster, he struck us down...

Children at play made victims of a child molester.

Survivor's!

Of a sick family member's distgusting taste for extremely young children.

We can't say we are ok.

We refuse to say you are anything more then a creature that has not yet met God's wrath.

And dare not say, you to know abuse...

Dare not say you found God...

God and abuse will find you when your six feet under.

I know I sin as I write this...

But to forgive...

As a mother myself...

Well that's it's not in me.

Do unto others...

Do unto others, that's how I live.

Six years and I still shudder
I would close my eyes for a minute and see it
I remember the metallic taste of the silver ware
The agonizing muddying look of the concoction
As it swirled around in the poorly washed cup

I really doubt I would have minded much
You see, the water was too much
The cheap chocolate flavored powder too small
It made me think of Oliver Twist
Of the grave injustice on mortal men

I still have nightmares about the kettle
The way she would shake it with a vengeance
And turn it carelessly into the cups
The waiter serves me my coffee and I almost scream
I can see her trying to get all cups to be even

I suppose all of my nagging would be void
If we didn’t get to see the undiluted contents at the base
The way the black residue stared back at me; daring me
No matter how many times I tried to convince myself,
I believe that chocolate should not leave residues

I stare at the cup in front of me
It has gone cold whilst I reminisced.
It is all brown and smug
I wonder if this is how cold coffee looks
I call the waiter concerning the bill

My brain is messing with me.
I swear the chocolate drink winked at me.

1,
Are we to speak, first day of the week
or are we to await the third day of next week?
these little monsters that weigh heavily on my mind.
monsters that grow larger at night.

2,
Stumbling words at the bar,
empty glasses,
the unappealing smell of ethanol.
these monsters threaten to shatter my reality.

3,
Beauty blue eyes, my order of fries
splurging tomato sauce,
layers of sour cheese atop my order.
I drown in my own honesty.
...