The Curse of Hope

Hope is insidious in its waning,
lingering sweet like a sin,
an unspoken prayer
that betrays reason
in defiance of looming inevitability
while offering nothing more
than a lengthening of the hours
of a lonely vigil.

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Legacies

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This place I never meant to find,

this time I never meant to be in,

holds me against my will

and I linger longer than a moment

in years gone past and lost;

it’s all I can do to not reach out,

to stretch out from the lonely dark

with fingers broken and bruised

from clawing at this prison of hope,

to see if you, if any part of you that

isn’t only memory now might be there–

but I know, to do so would be my folly,

and finding again the deafening roar

of an anger I’m not sure I deserve

I’d only retreat, defeated again by

the reality that is me,

the reality you created for me.

There was a time, a moment

when light and color–when you–washed away

all the greying shadow I cast in the world,

and melody takes me there far too often,

more than I’d like to admit,

but now…. now there is only me

and memory, thunderous and vibrant,

and painful, not for what it is,

but for what it no longer isn’t;

and this echoing silence fueled now

by rage and hate and the blame of

love misunderstood and cast aside

for lies that were never told

is all that remains of a forgiveness

that was asked for and offered

and then stripped away before it could breathe.

Musings From The Porch: The Storm & The Vigil

aesa

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!” – Hunter S. Thompson

A year ago I wrote about sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Chicago, watching stories of the world unfold. The organized chaos of that day is starkly contrasted by the disorganized calm I experience now, sitting on my porch in the Indiana countryside, not so much watching the world go by, but rather -feeling- it go by. The occasional car, truck, or tractor rumbles along our ragged stretch of cracked and worn asphalt, but other than that, it’s a fairly sedate existence out here. To say it’s quiet is both an understatement and a falsehood, illustrating the contradictory nature of life.

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how the heart dies

You offered it,

the hope I held on to,

this sense of security and meaning,

without my asking,

without my wanting–

I reached for it,

for what it meant,

because you offered,

because it mattered;

but what I grasped

was emptiness,

lonely and cold–

abandoned

after so many promises,

so many offers;

silence and waiting

are what I have now,

what I deserve,

for what I am

and am not,

the emptiness widening

and pain…

so much pain…

and this hope now

falters and fades,

and so must I.

Starlight

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Rain weary air
gives way to fire laden breath,
a soul escaping the confines of flesh
and set free in exhalation of thought;
into night on rising tides
of fluttering light crowned in autumn hues
it flies, upward to drift in an ocean of wonder
bedecked with jewels of every color,
each the keeper of a dream,
or a wish, some now long forgotten
but out there still, held safe in silent prayers
now tended by we who dream now
and tomorrow–and in that hope,
in the essence of gossamer strands
that bind souls together is found
that thing, that simplest of things
that makes you and I one:
for if from stars we are born,
then stars we must be,
light enduring before and after
we were born to darkness–
but darkness knows not itself
without the light to shine upon it,
and souls, as dreams, are that
formless fire of creation,
eternal and unyielding.

For That Second

For that second you loved me,
that second of hope,
for that moment of light
when I was not alone,
for that touch of forever
washed away by this pain,
for that second you loved me…

…I’d do anything.

Inspired tonight by a piece of music that made me reminisce….

‘For That Second’ by Rob Scallon