There had to be another chapter, I think.
And, so, I decided to pick this up from here
and make do with some poetry
and make do what I have
instead of thinking about the things that I don’t have,
or that I’ve lost.
I never wanted to leave, per se,
but I left just the same
because this is how the cards came out
And so, I folded my hand.
and lost my bet
which is one of my pet peeves.
Losing
without playing . . .
I never wanted anything to change
but now that everything has changed,
I suppose I want the unreachable things
to come back to me, or if at all possible,
I want to find the same thing, which is new
which is better and stronger
and more lifesaving than the dose of medicine
or the remedy for the everyday curse,
which we face on an everyday basis.
I am envisioning myself now, endless rivers,
beautiful shores, long and anticipated freedoms
and galaxies of relief,
pouring in like the Milky Way of waterfalls
pouring over me with the floods of excess
and purified joy.
No more tomorrow
No more yesterday.
No more ridiculous reasons to relinquish my dreams
or to give away the keys to my kingdom.
There will be no more reasons
to resolve my resolution of hate or resentment
because I am otherwise gone
and established at a place,
which is where I call
“my peace.”
The breeze is soft here . . .
nothing moves at the moment
and the tide is between in and out is slack
and I?
I am trying to manifest myself as best as I can,
both cordially and consistently with an extension of hope,
and purging myself
giving me up to my one and only
No.
I am not the bizarro or the random or the poet of all poets
and hardly, or if anything at all,
I am certainly nothing more
than another man amongst the masses,
hoping to defy my enemies
and yearning to meet the meaning of life.
I want to find this like the Three Stations of The Cross:
in theme of The Father, and of The Son,
and the Holy Spirit.
I am looking to find my redemption,
which has nothing to do with anyone else,
or their response.
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I am looking to find my mind, body, and soul,
or to be like as it was in the beginning, is now,
and my hope is that I can be forever too.
I want to be like the word, and therefore,
I understand and acknowledge that there is only one truth.
Blessed Father, forgive me.
It has been several lifetimes since my last confession,
and so, my life has moved consecutively
and gone towards a pattern which we all refer to as:
self-destruction.
I am here in my confession,
turning over my new leaf to rid myself
of the torment of a life gone by.
I breathe . . .
And yes, I Inhale, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7
And thus; I pause, 5,4,3,2,1
And now I exhale, 1, 2,3,4,5,6,7
And I do this to cycle my lungs
as if to replenish my spirit
the same way the tides replenish the sands
when the tides are high
All is still
The wind has yet to move
and the waves have yet to crest or ripple
or interrupt the smooth surface of this thing I call
my figurative bay.
The water here is as blue as they come
and this here?
This is a place that is real
(at least to me)
This is a place that dates back to a time of my youth,
which was long before the moment
when my life became my own.
I owned nothing back then.
But unbeknownst to me, I had everything.
I had what seemed to be an endless supply of tomorrows
and so, my list of yesterdays
were limited to the short tasks
of a life unlived
I used to dream
And so I tried
I dare more now
And so I lied because to say the truth
would reflect more on me
than I wanted the mirror (or the stage)
to reflect.
I am a long list which began long ago and so,
all of this has to be shortened
or at least abbreviated and compiled
into a lifetime of a man recreating himself,
one day at a time.
I often look back at nights and times,
like those which I spent on the roof of my boyhood home.
I recall my tiny flask of gin.
This was one of the many weapons
I regarded when referring to my weapons of choice.
I was old enough to seek euphoric means
but too young to realize
that everything comes with a price.
And so
consequences can often be costly
Eventually, everyone pays
Everyone pays the tolls and everyone pays the tax man,
who comes no differently from the spirit of death
and eventually,
we all return the unknown vaper known as “the before”
and
“the afterlife.”
I am me
You are you
And so . . .
Never the twain shall meet on the tired road
of mediocre existence
or the lifetimes that barely hum loud enough
to be heard by “her” or to lead me to my
one-and-only or my counterpart
to which I confess – I never asked to be gone,
but as gone as I am, so is she –
missing like the invisible atmospheric
suggestion that fate has more to do “with us”
than we think.
I am far from Heaven
and looking to distance myself from the Gods of Hellfire.
I am done with all the rest of the plural gods
who otherwise degrade us with distance
or separate us by saying some are made to be saved
and some will be made to suffer.
I am done with the new religion, which is politics
because we no longer focus on
“which God do you pray to?”
Instead, we focus on which government you voted for,
or otherwise hail,
or worship like the golden calf
or an otherwise idol,
prayed to and praised,
regardless of the first commandment which demands,
“thou shalt not worship any god before me!”
And yet, we do.
We have a lot of gods these days.
Yet, we dance
and we sing to the rhythm of our native tune
and dress in the traditions of status hungry lives,
far from humble and further from modest.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness and no,
Father forgive me.
I am far from clean
and further from the commencement of my redemption.
But I am trying.
I am trying to hold my tongue.
I am trying to remove myself from the argument,
but my pride is evil and so
I often return to the ideas of “Unfinished business!”|
And so, we argue.
We fight about who came first,
the atom or the man, or the molecule
or the man who discovered them.
They who came first, came first
and those who came last, came last.
And so, perhaps it is true that those who came last
or those who came last
or maybe they were the last. to laugh
and if this is so,
is it so that those who laughed last,
laughed best?
I ask this because I am not laughing.
Not at all.
I am done with the daily debates
and the arguments that degrade us and yet,
we still dignify each other with a response
because pride is too thick and thusly,
this is why pride comes before the fall
because my pride has caused me to fall
to which I say
as I fall deeper and deeply.
Help me, God
Here O’ Isreal
the Lord is God
the Lord is one
but which one do you subscribe to?
The Father?
The Son?
The Holy Spirit?
Who?
None of the items in your soul belong to me
and nor were they left there to be left alone.
I know this because what is love
if love goes untouched?
And what is life if life is unlived
and what’s the sense of living
if life is nothing more than loveless?
What’s the point in “just” being?
or simply existing
without meaning . . .
How do you do what you do?
How do you linger in my heart
and how do you exist
even after you are gone?
I breathe.
Inhale 1,2,3,4,5,6,7
And so, I pause 5,4,3,2,1
I exhale again, 1,2,3,4,5,6,7
Still I wonder
because if you are gone,
then you are gone
and this only promotes the question
which asks:
did you even exist in the first place?
Well?
Did you?
Did I?
Or
if this is deliberate
or if this is fate unfolding
and if destiny is laughing at my expense,
then please . . .
let me in on the joke
so that I can have some relief.
I breathe to prove that I am still alive
because, and as of now,
I am afraid that I am failing,
and falling
or losing my grip.
Who will tell me the truth
about what it means to be delusional?
Who will deny my tickets at the gate
or ask that I stand in line
or should I go back to the end of it?
Who will love me?
Who will prove this worthy
if I dare to love myself enough,
who will share my love?
And so,
who will love me enough to say, “Do you see him?”
and point at me and repeat “yes, him.
“He is mine!”
Or will I have to learn new ways to redefine myself?
Perhaps these are my cards –
to be alone
untouched
or remain undefined
and by unloved by anyone valuable
enough to call “my own.”
Today, in my hearing
I bring you
“a new”
God help me
if he chooses to do so
and if not
then I suppose we can go back to the old game
called, “more of the same.”
until we lose
Completely ~
The Written Addiction 