I would shape the world for her but I have lost my chisel and I don’t know how to dance
A song plays in the distance half remembered
A tune made for embrace
Mist whispers asking for one more minute
One last twirl across the faded turf
The stone looms and I can only look up forlorn
A place to stand all I asked for
Thinking myself strong enough to forge the lever
By will and bone
In this empty mist morning
I can only regret
Hope falls
Heavy droplets
Crying out of the still dawn sky
Only
I find myself dry
Without tether
Heart aching
Wondering if I the faith I feel I’ve lost
Is a faith in a greater good
Or the pain
Of your faith
Lost in me
Beyond the edges, in filigree
I’ve waited in the dark
Lurking
Eyes strained
Sleep deprived and wired
Sipping coffee
Waiting for
Something to bring out light
Waited so long
That light itself was foreign
Suspect
That people could live in that place and not know its inevitable destruction
That the bright light was just the soft underbelly of the darkness
Darkness to make you strong
To feast on pain
To become inured to it
To seek it out
To wake
And in a moment of clarity
A moment of breathe which came so rarely
Its presence was pleasure itself
Realize that waiting is giving up
And drag yourself up out of the darkness to live as an alien in the bright world
Because you’ve been changed
Because you can’t see the simple without looking for its opposite
Because you are infused in darkness and whatever you think and do is just a step away from
That place
That cavern
That prison
You once called shelter
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Beyond the shores of Lethe
Sleep is the one thing in this world which seems genuinely good anymore
And it’s not that there are not elements of the waking world which I love
Rather it is the ecosystem of everything which surrounds us which is so perverse and broken that only in sleep do I feel free
I slide into bed and cool sheets greet me
The most comfortable pillow I’ve ever owned
Which I bought from a small local shop which I hope weathers this storm
Because I also get my beds from them
Beds that are called insidious
Because they are deceptively comfortable and lure you into deep sleep
I pull the blanket given to me by the woman I love across me, snuggling down in her distant embrace
And I slip from this abomination of a world into another
Perhaps just my own mind
Or perhaps a shard reality made real only for me
Still, sleep takes in another lost soul
Hoping that dreams become refuge for a weary heart
And when I wake
It is always with reluctance
For dreams and sleep
Is the last refuge we have
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Light eruption and tingling lips
Where mountains and hope mix to sand
Find open arms and wide hearts
Black coffee and cold mornings
Mispoken fumbles made cumbersome
Hurtful by distance
Still
Truth is truth
And love blooms in still soil
In hearts made heavy
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Injecting sand, hoping for one more minute
I play for time
Rolling dice against an uncaring clock
Anything to maintain distance from sleep which drags me unwilling out of bed as morning breaks
And fatigue settles into bones
Wander through routine
And listening to high energy music in a vain attempt to will myself into work
I play for time
Seconds drip by
Hopeful steps with one more second before tomorrow becomes inevitable
That foreknowledge
That foregone conclusion
It not even burnout
It’s just life
This wheel turning with no hope to get ahead
Head above water
Treading and hoping to make it to that future I once thought certain
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Song of the Day-Back to Work
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Calm wistful mornings
Drop sand distant to a tune made melody
Pounding counterpoint to soft gasps
Quiet bitten lip moans
Being quiet for too thin walls
Open to the endeavors of pain
Break wave and skin taught
Beads of sweat
Cold in the rooms still air
Eyes meet
Even in passions throws
Small towel and soft cover
Cutting out cold
Taking fierce care while being taken
Into ear the growl of
“Mine”
And thus I’m lost again
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Friend in need
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Blood greases the wheel
There are companies which are the very definition of the drab Dutch businessmen portrayed in so many paintings. Bland, nearly tasteless. Faceless. The same type, again and again. Charismatic but not overly so. Smart but not intelligent. Academic rigor but not intellectual curiosity. Bland.
And those of us who find ourselves in trapped in such places…we slowly drown. Slowly fade until we have nothing left. And wake each day, filled with a low level dread. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the next twist of the knife you never quite see coming.
A corporate culture not quite toxic. But only just barely.
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I don’t have answers. I only have questions.
The truest wish I could ever state is this: I wish I were independently wealthy. Not so I could live it up and party. But so I could take care of the people I love in the manner they should be taken care of while not having to grind away at a job.
Because, honestly, after working for the last 30 years with little beyond continued life and some material possessions as a result, I am just tired of it.
And there is no end to it, without some massive upheaval of circumstance. There is only the maintenance of this or a devolution resulting in worse circumstances.
Arguably, I have a good job. But really, it pays just enough to keep my head and the heads of my loved ones above water. Which I know is amazing, seen from outside. And isn’t that sad? To aspire to just getting by.
What have we become? When the hope of something better is fiction. When the now is an endless slog to an uncertain future.
I’m weary beyond bone. So tired that my body spontaneously creates wounds. Aches, pains. In deep response to a continued existence. What is the answer? I don’t know.
Pelgris 