Dedicated to my loving father who was an artist is no more with us. I personally  lived and experienced the life of a canvas with hands of my father is something to adore more than in words. Memories and the paintings on canvas can never die as an artist’s soul.

r ~ 12/20/14

I wrote this a couple of days ago after reading an article about what being a 'Lover' means .... not just physically but overall - so this is what being a Lover means to me ....

Poet's Notes about The Poem

Sadness engulfs the heart and mind and all that is left is gloom.

I was inspired by an intelligent and advanced Poet from Writer's Cafe called Sheila Bowler Kline who wrote a heart moving poem titled MISERY and so I began writing. I must say she is gifted and write from the heart. Here is the poem below written by her and published on Writers Cafe





MISERY

BY SHEILA KLINE © 2016


Not a poem, not a story..........just random thoughts about MISERY! Oh, how it seems to permeate the soul of this writer far too often! Shake it off, stomp on it, run it away yet it ever finds a way of coming back far too often!
Perhaps a bit macabre, but then again, I am passionate about that which I feel within the depths of my marrow!


Misery

O' Misery, why do you plague me with your incessant railing every conscious moment of the day and suffocating hour of the night?

Are you not galvanized enough by tending to the dead who beg to return to the land of the living—skipping and frolicking with fate that swings like a pendulum ‘cross tombstones glistening under a moon made fat by the ingestion of a cycle of the universe?

You torment the living with your unwelcome presence. You take residence with the weak who suffer, slurping their lifeblood to quench your perpetual thirst. You craft a vacuum in man's psyche where joy once flourished as you wound your victim with anguish, making certain to cauterize lacerations that ooze any inkling of happiness.

You count the seconds, keeping tally of moments of vitality ready to unleash a counter attack to hasten the time of their demise. Weakness empowers you like rotting carcasses strewn across the Battlefield of Life strengthens the very soil they now litter.

You are wretched, toting gloom in a haversack of tricks. You were destined to bring grief to man before you were conceived. Calamity is your self-designated birthright. You arrogantly swagger through unending tunnels of doom to cavort in a sarcophagus unsealed by your penchant for woe.

The only light is that of your pride reflecting from the bleached bones of those who have been snuffed out by your doggedness to award them residence in your bastion of suffering. A lantern may flicker yet your foul breath smothers it before it lights the tinder and thus a flame of hope.

Those you infect with your virus of despondency pass it on one to another in a never ending stream of tragedy and despair. Misery, you are a driven contagious force that cannot stop as you have an insatiable appetite to commune with your casualties - "Misery loves company".

Sheila Bowyer Kline©2016


"If misery loves company, misery has company enough." - Henry David Thoreau