Breathing For The First Time (Sunday Muse 257)

 

Somewhere deep in the soft woods

My fate is being articulated tonight

something spoken kindly draws me in

And my hopes grow in this fading light

The sweet tones tell me this is it

This time it is showing me my way

Waiting has past, the stars in place

Something honey-sweet is here to stay

The tide turned; the sounds smitten

And the magic enchants my eyes

And as the stream flows to the sea

It now carries those once lonely cries

So, as I look eastward, I smile

The warmth inside carries me away

And the hopes build stronger that

Tomorrow, tomorrow, will be my day

Full Circle Sunset (The Sunday Muse, 256)

 

She said it best as she turned and departed into the winter night. Those words, chilling as they were, also, warmed me, as they digested in my suddenly sober mind. They replayed, each time seemingly adding a new layer to their structure until I felt in my heart what she meant. Our time was done. The love still lingers in the far corners of our hearts, but like peeling wallpaper our patterns no longer met at the edges. The cute had long ago turned into endless thorns against our skin, punctured partners unwilling to apply the simplest of ointment to sooth the maddening moment. It had not always been an uphill struggle in a dark night of continuing storms that buried any hopes and dreams under dizzying heights of frozen baggage. But her luggage’s imprints could now be traced to her car, filled with tears and sobs, her foot lifted from the ground and the door closed one last time.

Hers was a difficult decision. To stay and watch me drink myself into the littered landscape or walk away, never knowing if I quit beginning to write again. To give up upon the one shared dream of our paradise, paved with sandy fantasies of umbrellaed rum and butt imprints on the beaches. I could not blame her for all her own faults, even the ones that led me to drown from the inside out. Instead, a wave of pity flooded my fermented mind, reminding me of catching her with him far too many times. Now, he was dead, we all were in our own ways, and she was gone, long gone in this fresh physical minute.

Many years had passed, the book was being made into a movie and my days were filled with watching a stranger take my words and turn them into fodder for the masses. I no longer cared, I just sipped tea and nodded when asked if I had meant a certain emotion for a group of words clearly designed to convey the obvious. All that mattered to me was getting through another day so I could drive away and follow the sea to where she and I would make butt prints against the setting sun.

Thank you (Sunday Muse #254)

So tired, of failed words and dreams broken upon the rocky shores of my own making. The past won’t leave, its dusty mail collects at the doorstep of my mind and I can no longer step over it. The rut, as vast as the Marianna Gulch is impossible to fill, yet, I try, again and again. The empty can not be contained in any shell, yet somehow spills out and swallows my screams, until now, I never stopped looking for the lifeboat, that tiny ray of unfiltered hope that allowed me to never let the tide carry me into that abyss of despair.

You showed me that, so often lifting me up without knowing. Somehow, the mismatched spirits we combine is something beyond perfect, no plan could have seen this, yet, it’s here. The uncollected mail is gone and the smiles return, because of you. You alone have calmed the angry bear of a man I had become with the gentlest hello.

She is, all the good I found in the rest and carried forward.

She is the hope I saw, the dreams I followed, and the calm in the storm.

She is the strength and gentle weakness I need

She is the guide, and the groove, the vibe and the pace

She is like finding that last piece of a puzzle, and

I’m now standing, enjoying what is, and ignoring what isn’t.  

Thank you

 

Daydreams (Sunday Muse #253)

I find myself once more in the noisy crowd, elbow to elbow all fighting to be on time for that which sucks the life out of us all. That treadmill we run upon, chasing the carrots dangling as our puppeteers laugh and drink from our souls. Bastards we would have long ago killed if we didn’t know deep down how poorly stripes look on us. Bosses and beasts, one in the same, yet each seemingly an expert on what horrors we alone will take, just how much degrading we must ensue to grab that paycheck on Friday.  At least mine, is just for today.

I had planned it out to perfection, over the many years of watching the brothers and sisters of nepotism advance to become my keeper in the work spaces I’ve dwelled in. Pretending to work as they shuffled their tasks onto my lap, suggesting they had given me a reward, it always came with threat not prize. Today, as they arrive late, laughing and loud, their fates, are about to change, for each is about to unleash a multitude of viruses corporate wide. Each of the guilty parties, 21 in total will unknowingly kill their own careers with a simple log in. I hope in their futures, they will learn to do their own work and not hand it, along with their passwords over to the likes of me.