needle my heart
thread me with hurt
keep me just alive
feel the cold anger
turn to hot sorrow
as I fight to survive
pull back bitten nails
pin me with pain
and pleasure derive
it’s torturer’s art
to keep us apart
and this love deprive
Tag: sorrow
Categories
Lost Life Loss
a memory
it is not mine
upon a log I sit
‘neath the snowy pine
under darkened sky
beside earthen stove
a bitter wind kicks up
in the moonlit grove
the jingle of the horse & sleigh
as it carries him so far away
I cannot weep, I do not cry
a muted heart is breaking
and as the silence lies
a frozen bough is snapping – loud
to crack the quiet
still, expected in the freeze
I do not startle, there is no breeze
no wind at back to impel me
my bones have stiffened here
my mind is anything but clear
as the winter’s solitude
forces delusions rather rude
inner quietude never did follow outer
now it’s simply easier to hear
internal screaming
though the fire burns, continuous
it takes us not
because it cannot reach
what we refuse we got
buried below
alive and dead
some peace & love
blessings bestowed
how are these all stripped from me?
as he plods on down the snowy path
I know he won’t be coming back
so I’m wrecked to watch him leave
though it is not my memory
Categories
Addicted to the melodrama
In my heart of hearts
I know
I know
what happiness is
I feel it exists
I know where it is to be found
under the bones, beneath the ribcage,
sub atomic the heart, in the subtle
in the very subtle mind
I know where all is found, created
produced phenomena
mistaken, mistaken
still mistaken
so there’s the rub
the grasp for external things
produced from an internal space
perceived from a point
moving through time and space
but a point, a personality nonetheless
— non-existent so to speak
yet hard to see (until it’s not)
and it’s the rub that’s missed
the feeling, the touch,
the understood cause
of pleasure, pain
the smack, the beating
and don’t get me started on the aural
— tongue lashings
to teach you tough lessons
What the fuck, right?
do you ever forget that people are real?
do you treat them too much like the dream characters you know they are?
can you feel – or is there a shelf in the way?
will someone please un-install the shelf!?
I think it can be recycled.
donate it. Please, help me.
the ledge is the safest place to be
if it perpetuates such refuge practice
but I don’t want to be there anymore
where do I want to be?
have I done the work, made the effort
that must render the results
effects I’ve created mindfully (somehow)
and somehow I’ll do it again
((blessings))
but oh! how I could do without
the melodramatic feeling!
the melancholy that arises,
such ache!
as if I am on the verge of losing
My Attachment
balancing
the moment, a magic moment
while seeing the potential – certain!
decease, death of these magic moments
no phenomena exists in the same way
for a second moment
care to think about that?
the certainty of change
still surprises you; cry about it
mourn the wisdom you missed
but receive what’s given to you
now — and why not happily?
you’ve got this
after all, you’ve got the lines —
just practice them
as an actor, rehearse rehearse
perchance to entertain… to fail…
to fly
imagination is all you need
to reach the end of the path
transform the melodrama
enjoy each step as you walk it
What the fuck, right?
The Halfwit Writer 