Woe to humanity
who has severely fallen
who “in the image and likeness
of God” they say
are disfigured, like the devil.

Woe to humanity!
They really do have fallen.
They go all out to war
to exploit and condemn all flaw
and all that’s different between them.

Woe to humanity…
They have yet to preserve life
There is no peace
For they have yet to cease
the fire that has burnt us down.

Woe to humanity,
their prayers are in vain.
Salvation is but
the things of this world
and all they have yet to gain.

Woe to humanity
who has so much to offer.
And yet we have failed
and all the more,
fallen.

How I try to count my blessings,
They do little to ease my saudade,
Look to the past
For some consolation,
But the past remains resistant,
O woe, where is hope?
I feel so old, and so alone…

Twenty years to destroy an existence,
Is all it took,
To steal my contentment,
Look to the past for a glimmer of peace,
To the past for a little release.
O woe, where is hope?
I feel so old, and so alone…

On one level, I feel so blessed,
Cleave to life with all my strength,
There’s so much to be thankful about,
‘Til I sink back into deepest night,
O woe, where is hope?
I feel so old, and so alone…

So it began, my life of pain
Covered in shame
Step-dad laid his claim

So it began, my life of woe
Down the rabbit hole
Some known how the story goes

So it began my life of tragedy
It happened so rapidly
It is now my woven tapestry

So it began, my life of regrets
Sadly it's not over yet
Impaled daily on life's bayonet

©Pauline Russell

hell,
i maintain,
is watching those
you love languish
in agony, powerless
to alleviate their
tragedy.
i would suffer
forever
if i could just
absolve
your woe.

The darkness disguised as light that is life creeps slowly into my spine like water dripping down a rain gutter after a storm. The reality in the air fills my lungs like twenty cigarettes all smoked in a dimly-lit stairwell on a Tuesday afternoon. I exhale as hard as I can, but the reality ceases to leave my being. It carves into my windpipe like a tiger's paw, ripping it into shreds as gravity pulls it back down.

I take a look at the calendar. A calm font reads December 24. I feel nothing. There is no cheer or happiness lingering in the supposedly cool December breeze. It used to fill the air with the scent of gingerbread and mint, but all there is now is the smell of rotting garbage, sun-dried ****, and the occasional stench of ****.

False smiles are painted across coffee shop windows. Bright lights that distract you from the world are wrapped around the trees. Mary gives birth to Jesus on each manger atop each building. It all still feels blank. The magic is gone. The false smiles frown at me. The luster of each bulb of each string of light has faded into a bland dullness. What lies atop the buildings are dead eyed statues.

Where has it all gone?