Is It?

Is it too much to walk on a path of thorns

When the well-travelled road is like industrial porn

Is it wrong to refuse the shoes

When they were bought in endless queues

Is it okay to swim against the tide

Rather than accept they lied

Is it out of style to sing out loud

A different song sung by the crowd

Is it okay to be me

And remain myself and free

Is it wrong to want to be odd

When most worship the golden god

Is it too much for me to want more

Than what is churned out by the media whore

Is it okay to question the status quo

Than to drown while going with the flow.

 

 

 

 

A Canopy of Stars

She woke under a canopy of stars, each one blinking with as much surprise as she. Her hand touched the soft grass beneath her, a breeze caressed her face as it raced across the meadow. She sat up letting her eyes adjust to the dark. The moon was full and the sky clear. She was in a meadow surrounded by trees. It was as if mother nature had built a castle just for her. She heard some rustling now and then as small rabbits or frightened mice moved through the grass.

She looked down at herself and could barely make out a floral house coat. Not a robe but something more substantial. Her hair was dark in the moonlight and her hands seemed so much younger than she remembered. A noise across the meadow made her look up and a large stag broke through the treeline. He was huge and muscular. His crown of bone as long as he was tall. He was magnificent and she felt a tear roll down her cheek.
She stood up slowly. She didn’t want to spook the grand king of this wood. As she did the King moved toward her. He raced quickly from the wood to her in seconds, stopping five feet from her. She saw into his black eyes. They seemed as clear as the purest crystal. She kept still slowly reaching out her hand. To her surprise the King knelt before her and let her touch his proud nose. Her smile was a big as the swelling in her heart as she heard a soft voice somewhere far away.

In the white room the machines beeped and growled. Wires winding across the tiled floor to the single bed. Sitting on the bed was a young girl, no more than seven. She clutched onto a piece of paper that she held up to show the woman lying still beneath her.

“And see Nana. It’s so beautiful here and the King comes to say hi. He is a good King…so gentle. He will let you pat him and you won’t hurt anymore. I love you Nana.”

The girl lay back against the woman, still holding up the picture of a meadow, under stars, with the King standing proud.

And I.

And I raised my voice

Against the rising Humm

Of indifferent spinning yarns

And I clenched my fists

Against the rising tide

Of those that would do harm

And I shake my head

Against the ignorant hoards

That lean towards insanity

And I shed a tear

Against the frozen ground

At the loss of our humanity. 

Backward.

I like to walk backwards through a life less told,

Through rooms that have cobwebs from being so old.

I look over shoulders at days left forgot,

I shake my head slowly at memories for not.

I say good-bye to people easier than most,

Remembering them as you would a ghost.

Some say I have demons that hide in the dark,

I think I show them with an impersonal mark.

I have never been true to people or me,

I prefer to never let anyone see.

The masks I wear I hang in my mind,

Always at hand and easy to find.

For a time I was free and able to share,

Like a child acting out on a dare.

But as dares go they tend to hurt,

And leave you face down in the dirt.

So I walk backwards locking some doors,

Left to die on forgotten shores.

 

Confession of Depression.

I remember back when the world was heavy. The days were so long, riddled with grief and pain. There was a loss, so deep that to fall into it meant falling forever and I fell. The mind raced within a crawl. I didn’t think pain could come from inside. I didn’t think it could hurt for so long. All I wanted was to get it out and I did,

A line of red, dripping down the arm was like watching a favourite movie. Each line seemed to let out the agony. Each cut closer and closer to the hairless wrist below. The mind imagines a sleep deep and dreamless. It imagines a peace that comes with nothing, with nonexistence. To be gone, so easy, like snapping the fingers. As horrible as it sounds, that thought could bring a smile.

Days and days of red lines and dreams of nothing. Waiting for the end, but never following through. That in itself showed a hope, no matter how small. As the scars healed a soul perhaps began to heal too. those close tried to be closer and i pushed them away. Humans are still a species alien to me, but then I just hated them all.

So what changed? My children not laughing at their silly father. My parents out living a son. My own up bringing, stupid Catholics, and in a strange way a human. The mysteries of life coming back to the fallen. The fall ending, not with a thump, but slowing enough to put both feet on the ground. I wear a mask of smiles from time to time, but that is how you fool the dark.

Confession of Depression.

 

 

The world.

When the world looks at me

Does it see hope

Or does it shake its  head

When the world holds out its hand

Do I reach back

Or roll over in my bed.

When rhe world is in trouble

Do run to its aid

Or hope someone else runs its way

When the world cries its salty tears

Do I comfort it with love

Or have nothing to say

When the world needs me

Do I stand in line

Or feel it’s too much

When the world needs my help

I hope I will be strong

And feel it’s gentle touch.