Humanity

A study in humanity

A look back to a cause

or an act of futility

Your hands in pockets

with faded pictures

in a rusted locket

Too much to go back to

against a howling wind

reasons left untrue

The light of what was

unchanging in excuses

just grasping on straws

Be what it may

it made us what we are

an endless sad ballet

Humans we are flawed

and we never see

that perhaps there is a God

In the child’s hand

the tree’s  leaves

in the untouched sand

 

Maybe we will never learn

stay in our hypocrisy

and still the days turn.

 

 

 

 

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Run.

The air escaped my lungs like a slow leak from a bicycle tire worn through from summer after summer of hard riding. I could hear it feel it, fuck, I could practically see it. The grass under me was dry and stabbing me with needles and itch. I wanted to get up wanted to keep running, but my body was now my enemy and I had lost any battle I was in.

I waited eyes growing heavy. I waited for the inevitable dark that had been chasing me for hours. How do you fight the dark? The answer is you can’t, you run always trying to stay ahead of it. You keep in the light chase the light with everything you have. You have to want it more than anything, reach so deep that you can do the miraculous.

I wanted it so badly that I broke the bonds of my limitations. I ran faster, jumped higher, I pushed until I practically flew! And then I did. I felt gravity give up fighting my desires. I saw my feet leave the ground and not need land again. I soared toward the light and even though it ran from me, I kept up. I was going to beat the darkness behind me.

The wind rushed through my hair. Speed was key, I had to be fast. The light was there and all around me. As long as I was in it I was winning. The only problem was I wasn’t winning I just didn’t realize I was losing.

It was in the speed. I wasn’t really as fast as I thought and the dark was not far behind me. Soon I could see the horizon behind me and see the shadow creeping miles behind. As time passed the shadow approached. I was losing as I was tiring. It seemed even flying took its toll.

The sky was darker. I looked all around me and saw the twilight of the evening encroaching. My breath always gave it away. When I was running, jumping and now flying, the limits were not broken. I pushed myself harder, concentrating on nothing but the light. I felt speed, felt the wind pick up and then the crush in my lungs.

I fell and now I am lying here in the dry grass. The sky slowly turning and soon my enemy will find me. Even now I can hear its growl. I can hear its claws clicking in the dry dirt. An echo in the distance getting closer.

My arm is numb, my breath getting shorter and weaker. I can’t fight the dark. I see the last of the light in my life go dark and I know I have lost the long fight. It is all around me now. The teeth digging into my flesh as the darkness swims around me, stalking me…I let go of the needle and I am gone.

 

Reminisce for the Rest.

I rarely look back,

I don’t work that way,

I don’t hold on to moments,

nor reminisce.

I do not keep friendships,

as time moves on,

I move with the motion,

never wondering of risk.

I know people who are trapped,

in the what was,

what wasn’t,

and could have been.

I think of a life,

looking back all the time,

I forget those I knew,

without trying to be mean.

I cut some ties,

lose many friends,

replaced with the now,

and the future to come.

So live in the past,

if you prefer that time,

but don’t fault my mind,

what’s done is always done.

 

 

Middle Aged Meandering. :)

You are me, not literally, but I think you share some traits. We are all individuals with dreams and hopes. We live for a short time on this little ball and then we move on. I have reached that middle ground, where what I was in youth has become an older man.

I have regrets. I think most of us do. We look back at what we thought our life would be and see very little in what life has become. I look at my parents and see the same thing written on their faces, see the same smiles at accepting the inevitability of living. Life gets in the way of dreams.

I have impacted very little in my life. I have dreamed more than most. I have walked down a path and imagined more than just an asphalt trail. I dreamed of writing a novel, dreamed of  saving a life, dreamed of miracles and seen none of them arrive. I get up, I waste time, I work and then start again. There are laughs and some smiles, but always a what if…

This is what makes us who we are. The what ifs and the what could have beens. It’s a reflection of a universe that never came into being, not for me. I have so many failures and few celebrations, yet I continue with being human.

I suppose I am in a new phase, one that takes hold of us all at some age. I have three beautiful children, gifts that make up for so many failures. I have someone who cares for me, loves me and that brings me a smile. To look back is to try to put together the puzzle of ones own life. I have never been very good with puzzles, I lose pieces.

So I will say to you who read these few lines. Life is what it is…it gets in the way, but also lets us dream. In dreams we escape the doldrums and for a few the dreams do become reality. I hope, that as I travel the back-end of this journey I see some dreams come true.

The Rip.

It was a loud noise, not a boom, but a rip in the air. All eyes looked up at the sky. All eyes around the entire globe looked for the source of the noise. Over time it was placed in the backs of memory, in time most forgot the strange noise.

When it happened again, louder than before, loud enough to shake a mountain and upset the waves on every ocean, no one forgot and attention was placed firmly on the tear in the sky.

Within 6 months the cult of the end was across the globe. Men women and children sure that the end was coming. There were riots and looting on a scale unprecedented in human history. There were deaths, not just by the rioters, but by suicide. Governments held grand councils to try to figure out how to calm the minds of those sure the end was coming.

The third rip shook the planet with a mild rumble. Nothing that caused much damage, but it was every corner of the earth. The cult of the end dropped to their knees to pray, the rest spurned with fear and anger, took to the streets. Armies were called in to stop the carnage, this only created more carnage and within 4 days 20% of the world’s population was no more.

The sheer depth of the loss was too much for many leaders. Governments lost those that lead them by gun, rope or knife. Over a billion people lost to insanity and attempts to stop it. Bodies were left where they lay and slowly the world slipped into disease. Hospitals were over crowded and unable to keep up with the sheer numbers of ill and injured. Many closed their doors and soon basic care was unavailable to most.

This was the state of the world when the final rip was heard and felt across the land. The noise was loud enough to drop every human to their knees holding their ears to block the painful blare of the end. The power of it shattered mountains, drove towering waves to the shores of the kneeling masses. Long dormant volcanoes burst with fire and the plates that all lived on shifted violently.

The air became thin and full of dust. Those left living slowly struggled to get a breath as the atmosphere bled into space. The sun was the last to pay a visit, finally able to shine all its power on the earth. The land started to burn as the planet turned through the day.

This was the end for those still on the earth…

 

The Lost Boy.

I remember when I was a child more vividly than most. Perhaps it is because I never really left that boy. I never turned from him, but in many ways I remained lost. I am perhaps the only true “lost boy,” trapped in a neverland of my own creation.

I am a lost soul, in a world that moved on. I sit in a corner, my arms wrapped around my legs. It is dark where the boy lives and the voices are always there. Some days there are hands clawing at his knees, some days there are only voices whispering bad things in his small ears…he is always frightened. Even now in the guise of an old man, he is scared.

What frightens him is how he makes himself breathe. How every day he forces air in his lungs and begins the day. How his life has always been that first breath and each breath after was for those in his life, never for himself. Imagine it…

To wake.

To breathe.

To keep breathing so as to not let them down. To live, so no one has to hurt at the loss of him. In essence living not for himself, but for everyone else. Given the choice, the boy would stop forcing the breath and let the wind flow from his lungs and sleep without worry. An impossible dream for the boy who became a man and still lives for those who need him…never for the one that needs him most.

The lost boy.