Childhood
Does youth in the soul die with age?
Shall we all fall into adulthood’s trap
Forever altered
Imagination shriveled within
Make the world a stage to act our lives upon?
Will childhood disintegrate beyond teen years?
Shall we remember such times with distance
Everything evaporated
The choices made
Left to live in adulthood’s consequences?
Is adulthood to be an obligation?
Must we blossom if we wish to stay a bud
Untouched by poison
Unpollinated by contact
Are we destined to bloom, shrivel, decay?
Must lines sink beneath children’s eyes?
Must innocence meet its untimely end
Buried with imagination
Remains mourned by the soul
Until we meet immortality or oblivion?
Perhaps, childhood never dies
It lives inside us over a smoldering flicker
We must simply seek it out
Hear the voice within it
And let it shine over our softened hearts
Original Prose: https://theprose.com/TBHughes
Life as she knew it. (repost)
A flurry of emotions.
A storm wrecked her, turning her vision upside down.
The end of life as she knew it.
The unsung songs, the unfelt joys, the incomplete dances.
The unfinished trial.
Anger raged through her.
Fear ruled over her body.
Sadness seemed to consume her.
Pain threatened to overwhelm her.
Grief, like none she had known before, took over her in a wave of despair.
All these emotions, some she never knew she had, took over her body, exploiting her, reigning supreme.
And they tormented her over and over, as she looked down into the unopened eyes of her unborn baby.
Swing.
The first thing that caught my eye were the pills.
They lay on my bedside table, along with a half drunk glass of water which had a whitish tinge to it.
Probably drugged, I thought drowsily.
As I start to sit up, I notice other things- the vast number of people in white uniforms, the eerie silence accompanied with distant cries, the giant window near my bed.
Pulling myself up, I look out the window.
There’s a driveway- a narrow one, filled with gravel. Big black doors, and walls topped with barbed wire. A kitten, barely a couple of weeks old, mewed in the garden. The garden wasn’t bad. Well kept, with some slides and a single swing. A little girl wanders around, glancing at everything as though they were items on display.
The last thing that caught my attention- and took my breath away- was that this was not my house!
Struggling, I stand up, only to be pulled down immediately by cuffs that shackle my feet. The chains rattle loudly, causing a nurse to look up and run towards me.
As she approaches, I pull the quilt over my head. I don’t want to talk, especially now, especially to her. Out of the torn patch in my blanket, I see her coming towards me. She looks like... like a doctor. But hospitals don’t shackle people up, do they?
Looking out of the torn area, a bronze plaque catches my eye. It has some mumbo-jumbo nonsense, proclaiming this hospital as ‘one of the finest mental institutions in the state’.
The doctor in white comes and talks to me in soothing tones. I tune her out. I’m great at that. Everybody says so.
Humming softly, I look out the window again, at the little girl who bears so much resemblance to me swinging on the lone swing.
*****
Night.
I’d never realised how difficult it would be to live in cold weather.
Our small hamlet in South Florida hadn’t seen snow in the past 20 years, and I’ve been alive for only 14.
I don’t own a coat; I’ve never found use for one. So here I am now, trudging my way to the Goodwill bin outside the church at the opposite end of village from me; and as I walk, I wonder whether it will be thirst, starvation or the cold which will get to me first.
My feet stumble on the rocky sidewalk; I throw out my hands just before the curb hits my head. Lady Tyche didn’t seem to favour me as much as the rest of her children, those who lived in their warm, comfortable, cosy houses, those who wouldn’t glance twice at a teenager struggling to find a place to sleep, and perhaps get some food.
The world is pretty messed up.
Atleast there’s one living being that cares for me.
And there he is now, wagging his tail, one of his hind legs permanently bent back by a major fracture. His coat looks rugged, he has cuts all across his body and his bones are clearly visible from malnutrition.
I kneel down and call him, and he comes barking joyfully and clambers on to me, licking my face with great vigour.
I know I have to get up, but his body is warm, and pressed against mine and for a second, just for a second, the world seems a little less harsh.
We have a sort of special bond; after all, we were both dealt similar cards in life.
But eventually, I do get up, and he follows me, limping, towards the edge of town, where the sun lays, hanging just above the horizon, coating everything in a golden haze, leading many to falsely assume that everything’s okay, we’re gonna be fine, etc, etc.
Nobody knows the truth until it hits you in the face.
We walk down the now muddy path anyways, our views glamoured by the joy of being together. We could be a stock picture, a boy and his dog silhouetted against the setting sun, a picture of happiness.
If only they knew the truth.
There are less and less people on the street now; they are going home before the daylight ends, before the dark and mysterious night takes over.
But in the same night people fear, I find solitude and peace.
Finally, and it had to happen, my legs can’t take it anymore. I collapse in a heap just as the first stars start to twinkle in the sky. My furry companion lies down beside me, both of us shivering from the cold.
I wrap my arms around him in a hug, and close my eyes.If I have to go down eventually, this is a good way as any. Above us, the moon rises, huge against the meager stars, and shines upon the world.
The night has come.
*****
Memory
My memories travel in fragments. Beginnings to a storm. Casements of sliced thought. Ends of stories, pieced for a grin, to provoke in me a response. A smile, a fist, a tear.
My memories cloud together, forming droplets over my thoughts. When I least suspect, when quiet calms with its quake, they shout in their fury. They will dominate with their whisper.
My memories stir, aftershocks to my fingertips, until my lasting breath. With my soul elsewhere, when my heart ceases to grow, will all of my thoughts scatter to oblivion?
Desires are secondary to the fate of my cased thoughts. I can only pray for the tales of my life to trickle to the memories of others. By reaching out with a delicate hand, I will live forever in the minds of those I love.
Those are the memories that matter.
Love
Once a love so deep
The pain as it fades away
It’s unbearable
I have tried so hard
But got nowhere
I show you love is still there
You still don’t come back
My darkness gets darker
As your light gets brighter
I try to make you understand
Love is still there
Still you don’t come back
I begged and I cried
You still left
And my heart has been broken ever since
