I cleared my desk today
I trashed pieces of paper, old receipts and movie tickets
I crushed and tossed letters and brochures
Perhaps its nothing to many of you
A simple clearing, of items that you no longer need
But to me, it was so much more than that
In this mass of what others may call trash
are items that hold memories and scrapped futures
Because I remember them all
Every movie we went for
Every cafe we visited
Every letter or piece of news that
we struggled or celebrated together
It was landfill of triggers that I was rummaging through eyes wide open

I was exposed
This gravity was craving in
Like an insurmountable weight
Place on top my chest
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see
You've tried for months I told myself
Today's the day you will do it
Put those memories away

But how did I do it you ask?
How was it possible to no longer feel?
Truth is, I felt it all.
The weight still came in waves
As each item still screamed for its place to stay
But I was no longer in the mood for mercy
For they have haunted me long enough
Piece by piece, I was being set free
Perhaps what I felt in all these moments was genuine
Perhaps I only felt what I wanted to
Perhaps all I did was layer to stay longer in your storm
To keep you company, to lift you up
But it mattered not
For I knew that starting today
I no longer wanted to feel that way
For this is not the love I want not deserve

So for the last time
I did what I had to
Just like when you were in lalaland
I kissed the only picture you let me keep
With the same feeling of longing in my heart
But today, it was goodbye.
With that,
I placed you far and high
Out of my reach

I cleared my desk today
Removed all the artefacts
That I marked my precious
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see
But I knew it was necessary
I knew deep down that I had more to give
But it mattered not
For it was time to go.

To all the things that weren't meant to be
I'm here saying my final apologies
For I knew that my rage is strength
For I knew that I had more to give
For I knew that this was not the end of my story
For I knew that I am grateful for all that life has given
The people, the love, the pain, the suffering
I love and am thankful for it all

But still a mark has not been made
And my fire lies unsatisfied
My fate calls for my awakening once more
And this time,
There are no chains on me
No gravity that shall bound me
No fear that will stop me
For deep in me, I feel power
Power that will allow me to
walk the path that is dark and unknown
For I am wiser and stronger
Than I have ever been
Let's do this, round 2.

Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.

All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.

So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,

none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.

Since the vortex will be ******* up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.

I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.

Does anyone know, can anyone tell,
my memories jarred,
can't remember so well,
my instinct, my feeling, got kicked out of hell?
thought it was heaven,  
enraptured so bright,
not sun, but a fire,
in dark, darkest night.

Brains' blind spotted angle,
horror, shock, brimming tide ,
dark stained blackness,
encompassing wide,
killed all my  innocence, before she could hide.

Monstrous, fanged, hairy, wide shadowed, mouth,
wind, fire, thunder, hailstoning shout,
anchor skewered into my spine,
carrying all this, while still drinking wine,
in lalaland where I feel fine,