Spinning.

The sky was once blue

The water was once clean

The rain…well…it didn’t burn

And there was grass, green grass.

I remember a thing called tree,

And wishing the summer days would last.

I remember the outdoor smell

Before the scent of grime.

I remember fish that swam,

Before the layer of oil.

I remember a world of light.

Before the world lost the fight.

Shed a tear

The end is near.

 

 

 

A Tiny Hand

Your tiny hand

held in mine

so small, I still remember…

Walk with me

hand in hand

as I get grey and meager…

My tiny hand

aged and frail

so small, you may remember

No matter how grey

or stooped with age

there is something always familiar…

Your hand hold true

is never grown

It’s just what I remember…

A tiny hand

held tight to mine.

A love that lives forever.

 

 

Wake and fail.

In a flurry of unconscious meandering,

Drifting through the known and unknown,

No light to speak of,

No sound to strain to hear,

No awareness of anything,

but the the blank…which is something,

Confused…I swallow,

Hard on pride,

I choke…too loud…

I wake…still here…

I cry,

Only a bit,

As the light peaks through the curtains,

I am awake?

I blink,

Pinch the skin of my arm,

It’s supposed to hurt right?

Too much volume out of sleep,

I miss the blank,

Hit the button on the strange box and drift,

I will try again,

When it isn’t too bright,

and much too loud.

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.

 

 

Heart and Wing

Tall stands the heart of cold

the agent of despair

the owner of souls

never meant for him.

Ever watchful is the bird

with wings spread wide

eyes all-knowing

all manner of sin.

The heart and the bird

in a dance of forever

one waiting to steal

the other wanting to save.

In the shadow and light

with fist and wing

each wanting the end

with the roads each paves.

And above the dance

is a god still sleeping

lost in a slumber

seeing with no eyes.

The heart likes the slumber

The bird wants him roused

and the world cries out

before the day dies.