May 2020
Dark skies and broken hearts fill my journal pages as I sit down and write a lasting letter to whoever finds it.
I'm tried. I've been fighting for so long now....fighting for food, for sanity, for money, for validation and for love.
Once more into the breach for the love of love. Battle chinked armor, bloodied hands, scared face, full blooded urban soldier.
My piano is this pen, my songbook is the journal with "Kilroy was here"
I bend down and pray to myself which is how I know God watches my back.
This is another battle, another fight, another trudge through the minefield of emotion, of work, of heart, of soul.
I'm tired of being tried, I'm tried of fighting, but we don't retire into the quiet.
Johnny get yer gun, grab the sword, find your marks.
Muscle up soldier, we have one more fight.
One more battle.
I've said before in a poem that I had one last fight in me and one more after that, and several more. As long as I can stand it seems I'm in some form of combat.
I sacrifice my body for this because it's a personal victory, or loss...at this point I can't tell the ups from the downs anymore and it's simply because I don't care to look.
It's nothing I haven't done before, nothing I haven't seen, nothing I haven't done, it's old hat to me but that doesn't make it easier, it doesn't make it something that gets easier to cope with over time.
I grab my bottle, I climb to the top of my ivory tower of self isolation and I take my throne.
It has been said that when one does something right, you won't know they've done anything at all, this is our gift and curse, this is the chain we've wrapped around our necks and hung ourselves by.
So yes, one more battle- and a million more. Alone because no one else can, or will and someone has to hold back the high hell waters.
One must sit at the gate and make sure it operates correctly, one must fight until they die from it. Until they exhaust from it. Until they burn out from it.
From the top of this tower, from the bottom of my heart, I give all I have in every fight because that's whats required, I rebuild myself because I'm just that strong, because someone has to be, because when everyone falls to pieces, some must pick themselves up and dust themselves off, wipe the blood from the mouth, pick the shrapnel out, look in the mirror and do it again.
When you've got nothing to do and you can't do anything, you do what you can because it's what's required of you. Most of the time no one asks, no one steps up because it's not needed but the void must be filled and so we fill it.
a million dead hearts left behind, so we pick up what we can and move onward. Onward into the fight.
I'm tried. I've been fighting for so long now....fighting for food, for sanity, for money, for validation and for love.
Once more into the breach for the love of love. Battle chinked armor, bloodied hands, scared face, full blooded urban soldier.
My piano is this pen, my songbook is the journal with "Kilroy was here"
I bend down and pray to myself which is how I know God watches my back.
This is another battle, another fight, another trudge through the minefield of emotion, of work, of heart, of soul.
I'm tired of being tried, I'm tried of fighting, but we don't retire into the quiet.
Johnny get yer gun, grab the sword, find your marks.
Muscle up soldier, we have one more fight.
One more battle.
I've said before in a poem that I had one last fight in me and one more after that, and several more. As long as I can stand it seems I'm in some form of combat.
I sacrifice my body for this because it's a personal victory, or loss...at this point I can't tell the ups from the downs anymore and it's simply because I don't care to look.
It's nothing I haven't done before, nothing I haven't seen, nothing I haven't done, it's old hat to me but that doesn't make it easier, it doesn't make it something that gets easier to cope with over time.
I grab my bottle, I climb to the top of my ivory tower of self isolation and I take my throne.
It has been said that when one does something right, you won't know they've done anything at all, this is our gift and curse, this is the chain we've wrapped around our necks and hung ourselves by.
So yes, one more battle- and a million more. Alone because no one else can, or will and someone has to hold back the high hell waters.
One must sit at the gate and make sure it operates correctly, one must fight until they die from it. Until they exhaust from it. Until they burn out from it.
From the top of this tower, from the bottom of my heart, I give all I have in every fight because that's whats required, I rebuild myself because I'm just that strong, because someone has to be, because when everyone falls to pieces, some must pick themselves up and dust themselves off, wipe the blood from the mouth, pick the shrapnel out, look in the mirror and do it again.
When you've got nothing to do and you can't do anything, you do what you can because it's what's required of you. Most of the time no one asks, no one steps up because it's not needed but the void must be filled and so we fill it.
a million dead hearts left behind, so we pick up what we can and move onward. Onward into the fight.
