she ran a hand over her heart.
the tip of her finger got caught in a small stitch tightly sewn to keep her heart together. but in that fateful moment, the stitch quickly unraveled, loosening her still-beating heart until the pieces could do nothing but stumble around each other, crumble into soft, maroon dust, and settle into her weary bones.
War is hell and battles
Are ****** and hard Whether in flander's fields Or spiritual plains, As I sit scrubbing ocre From my sword's flanks Lest it's vitriol pit My blade I test the edge and run An oilstone along to Finesse away dullness, And look around At a post martial landscape Littered with scorched scars Where demons were, And shell holes whence Came criticism and ungrateful Viciousness and suspicion, And realise for the ten Thousandth time There is no victory in valour, Nor glory in a battle won, Just a grubby pause before The next attack
Just musing on the nature of a life spent stepping up
I grow weary as I am separated from my beloved,
I yearn to transcend the known and discover the vast, Restless wanders my soul in search of its origin, To submerge in the current and be carried by the ocean of life, To shed this exterior and unite with the superior, I seek truth to end the feverish peril I quarrel.
"Tell me the sun doesn't shine when I am gone." She said softly, eyes looking up, earnestly at him.
"But it does, my dear, the sun shines all day long. And I am like the weary moon, who misses your warmth on those cold, dark nights. "
This bit of prose was written in 2016.
The wizened old man told me -
sustain the weary with a word for many a one has none to bring love and light into the blight of their dreary days. I asked which word and through a wan smile he said - you figure it out.
Maybe poets are the best ones
to discover and uncover the light hidden in the weary and the dreary
when life seems hopeless and despair
has grabbed hold and kept you there inside the blackest places known you feel scared and alone search within, look deep inside a tiny speck of hope implied will grow so slowly then collide with helpless thoughts that try to hide it shimmers, swirls, burns like fire picks you up and takes you higher lifts you from the pits of hell and suddenly, you can tell your spirits brighter than the dark you are a flash; you are a spark that bathes the world with golden light a lighthouse shining in the night with your spirit that has grown you sense a presence yet unknown you squint to see, and you're shown you have never been alone a field of radiant, brilliant sparks they glow and pulse, leave their marks upon your tattered weary soul they help to make you feel whole so when the darkness has a grip around you, helpless feelings slip the light that's in your soul defends the sparks are all of us, your friends
The insomnia gnawing through my weary bones
will never compare to the feelings of loving and losing You-
So difficult a thing to give the inexperienced a way to understand.
Why I am shaped the way I am by things I had never planned. I could tell you of those things in the hope they would shine a light. But unless you have been there you just couldn't see them right. Now I know that from the outside I may look the same as you. But I also know that on the inside I can see a different view. Those unplanned things that changed me in oh so many ways. Leaving me without a point or purpose facing lonely empty days. So deep the changes made that I struggle to leave my own door. In a head that despises minutes and asks what all the hours are for. In a mind that knows me Oh so well fearing you can see inside. Withdrawn from your society is my only safe place to hide. My mind is not so broken that I have forgotten all my past. It knows full well that by choice hope and love have been outcast. To the inexperienced from a mind that survives a life in this way. I hope you have clearer understanding of how I live my every day. I have no wisdom to offer or warning of a path you should avoid. External views wont show you why survival has been employed. Where choice has different meaning, instinct plays a bigger part. And mind suppresses both hope and dreams of a broken heart. I am become who I am by the path my life road has turned. I am this shape by instinct to survive, not from lessons I have learned.
Sometimes you just know you are getting old.
Sock lost forever.
Having no words. Laying down. Decent. Scattered. In absurdness. The best way. Leaning over. Sleep after. Canadian jade. Suspense. With everything else to say. Garrett Johnson.
Well....It's gone now.