in the end, i’ll be
f r e e
my reality
birthed from the tar
soaking my bones and
drowning my lungs in
fear,
fear,
fear
in the end, i’ll be
f o u n d
my resound
voiced from the ache
haunting my heart and
gutting my soul with
hurt,
hurt,
hurt
in the end, i will
f a d e
my masquerade
come to a close,
breaking the mold and
reflecting my life in
truth,
truth,
truth
in the end, i will
s e e
the real me
from beyond the thoughts
plaguing my mind and
veiling my eyes with
black,
black,
black
in the end, i’ll be
free, i’ll be
found
and i’ll fade
when i see that
in the end,
it doesn’t
even
matter.
like a child when they just know...
that keen knowing|sensing that one fits in the world.
it's of a natural easing
in to the minute social rhythms
of the personal|relational
in to the spacial inner ponderings of the heartful|private
when you have affirmed place in Space you open
to the Playing of the game of Life
gathering silent appeal and Soul Succor support
of a Union seeking Universe (...calling to you)
soon you are strengthened and soundly in
rapport with It all.
there is your "worthy"
*knowing that your are a
being here in Life with the Gift of self to explore
is your "worthiness..."
how would you image such a phenomenon to feel...?
like that child, surely!
she is feeling, yes, but more doing and being...
so below is an emotional/psychological sensing
of the query
caught, examined and held by descriptive words
adverbage-ing and verb-ing
for it is a Living|Moving thing (yes, feeling is alive)
this feeling (<<<< -ing!! see??) of Worth
a little human *be-ing:
goofy pure accepting silent >>> LOUD
unrelenting at ease giggling breathing fussing
crushing a stimulating reaching wishing
un.needing not knowing playing
escaping charging about
amplifying
coloring in moving on challenging
revering sounding risking formulating
responding gripping refreshing
they are So Now -
so yes, that is how it feels,
Being a Worthwhile Human...
feeling (that) so now, (that) so present
so akin to
so at One with this. very. moment.
just right here and just right Now
In Time to Meet
Our fate has brought us here in time to meet.
Two travelers upon a lonely trail,
the raging river churning past our feet.
The misty air replaces summer’s heat
while turning both our faces slightly pale;
our fate has brought us here in time to meet.
Her eyes reflecting mine are kind and sweet;
She turns away, to hide from me her tale,
the raging river churning past our feet.
Some other time and place, another street…
But no! Such thoughts will pave the way to fail,
and fate has brought us here in time to meet!
Together, with no chance for a retreat,
we’re now a team, ever destined to sail
the raging river churning past our feet
Her tear streaked smile makes my soul feel complete
As hand-in-hand we climb over the rail.
Our fate has brought us here in time to meet
the raging river churning past our feet.
(c) 2017 - dustygrein
** The villanelle has often been used to capture emotional glory, but I found it apt this time to capture tragedy, an all-too real outcome of depression for some poor souls.
I cant write about it. I try and try but it is the monster grabbing my ankles and pulling me back from what I want. I can't talk about it because it's always on my shoulder like Kronk's little devil telling me that no one will listen. I can't move forward because it's in my head hitting pause, replay. Pause, replay. Pause. Replay. How many times will it replay? How many times can I watch life pass me by and be stuck in a 60" screen making a face from when I was nine. I slap the mask on every day to go to school because it keeps saying...
No he's not staring. Shut up. I know I'm crazy. I'm crazy because of you. Ever thought of that? No, no you're just an inconsider- Wait, I know this scene. It's from The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy when Mandy punches Billy so hard that his nose falls off. Ha. That's my favorite. What was I saying? Get rid of you? Why would I get rid of you? We're friends aren't we? Then don't ask such dumb questions. Honestly, sometimes I think you're-
You're doing it again! Get out! Get out of my head! Why are you making me suffer? What did I do to deserve you? I didn't do anything wring. I don't hate you. I don't say bad things about your mother. I just try to ho exist and you just waltz in here changing my channels, pushing me around, playing me like your damn fiddle. Well, I'm no instrument and you're an asshole for implying it! Get out! I'll get medication. I'll go to therapy! I'll get rid of you, you here me! I'll get rid of you
Miss so-and-so, are you okay?
Yes Mrs. Turner.
Good. What's the answer to number seven?
I got B.
Very good. Now class, turn to the next page.
Why do you always embarrass me in public? I try to be good but you're just always here... Why can't you just go away?
Still Sleeping
I’m sorry
for my silly truth,
having no other way to be
and having the wisdom of the youth.
I would change my root,
that makes me, me.
I’ll be mute,
while you tell me who to be.
You’re my idol,
I’ve followed you like a bible;
Please, tell me lies
and don’t flood my eyes!
Just fulfil my goal
and tell me your heart doesn’t hate my soul.
I hate traditional poems, like this one,
but please lie and say it’s a decent one.
The boy that escaped
Disclaimer: The following story is based on a true event after a boy had escaped from a concentration camp, however not many details are known about it, very specific details in the text may not be factual.
Guards, barbed wire, electrical fences and an open camp with no hidden secrets- against all odds the little boy escaped. After running with his bare feet through the cold mud, hidden within the gloom of night and ushered by the white moonlight, next to a big brick house, he encounters an old wooden shed with no windows and a door of decaying wood and rusty metal. The boy inspects the door and finds a lock hanging from it- they forgot to lock it- he assumes. Old, abandoned objects are the hosts of the small room: broken clocks, dusty books, and a clean Nazi flag, its prominent bright red colour is still easily spotted through the darkness of the room. Even with the closed door, the boy can still find his way around the room with the guidance of the frail gleams of the moonlight entering through the wooden gaps. Passing clouds at times faded the light completely, leaving the room under a blanket of darknesses, but the boy keeps on blindly exploring the room- looking for a resting place. Eventually, he settled for a spot on the floor full of dirt under the corner table, where he could hide behind the flag if anyone were to come in.
The quietness of the room vanishes with the frequent clamorous growls of the boy's stomach, but even with the absence of silence, the boy finds peace in his mind to quickly fall into a deep rest.
*
The boy slowly starts to wake up from his long rest and softly pulls his hand from under the blanket covering him to rub his eyes. He then looks at what was over him and sees his body completely buried under the red, white and black of the flag which he pulled from the pole during the cold night. Suddenly, the boy's face goes as pale as the outside snow and his body becomes completely paralysed in fear as he sees the open door and from it a strong, tall Man comes in with an axe on his hands. The Man approaches the boy with slow sharp steps with his heavy boots- the boy holds his breath- the Man stops half way and puts his axe on a table before leaving without ever looking at the boy. The boy sees the open door but instead of taking a risk, he covers his head with the blanket- and waits.
The heavy sound of the Man's boots pounding on the hard floor comes back into the room, a strong sound echoed by the sound of the shivering boy’s own heartbeat. Silence. For the first time the boy hears the Man's deep voice, "Here you go, boy!" said the Man with an odd playful tone, followed by the sound of the door being locked. When uncovering his head, he's smacked with a dry smell that makes his stomach growl like a dog. He explores the room and finds a metal bowl in the middle of the tiny room, which seemed to contain the source of the smell familiar to the scent of spices, but his attention turns to the open cans of pesticide, which he fails to recall if they were there last night. His eyes stare at the suspicious bowl and his stomach growls with despair, he bites his lip and eventually, he makes his decision and takes his first step towards the bowl.
Before he's able to move any closer, the boy hears small steps being taken from under a table where the Man left the axe and the poison cans. A furry head comes out of the dark and starts feeding on the bowl. The boy crouches as he watches the dog devour his meal, pieces of its food jump out of the bowl like stones spit from a volcano. The boy grabs his loud belly in an attempt to censor it, but the ever increasing growls grab the attention of the dog, showing little interest in the starving little boy. With a torturous, craving need to satisfy his hunger, the boy's hand fetches a tiny piece of food that fell on the floor. With his weak breath he blows on to it and rubs it with his fingers, trying to expel the dirt from it, but his coal black, dirty hands fail him on this task. The more his fingers rub, the more wet and sticky they become from the moisture left from the dog's mouth.
His hand slowly carries the little wet piece covered in dirt into his open mouth when he notices the dog attentively staring at the boy. Their eyes stay fixed on each other until the dog comes further out from the shadows and taps the bowl with his snout. Neither one moved for a long minute. The dog, again, pushed the bowl even further and the boy slowly comes closer to the dog and reaches for the bowl, leaving the tiny piece behind. It is still half full. The meal tastes better than anything ever served to him in the Camp. When the bowl is empty, the boy falls asleep while petting his friend, and during the night- he's warmed by its fur.
*
With the passing of days, the young boy and the old dog split every meal, no matter how small the amount- the dog ate half and left half. But eventually, the share of food comes to an end...
The peaceful music of laughter and giggles from the little boy is played in the little shed as he and his friend happily play together. But suddenly, the dog stops and stays completely still. The boy follows the dog's sight and turns around, he's face grows red, he sees the black figure of the Man blocking strong sunlight barging in through the open door. The Man immediately closes the door with all his strength as the boy runs to it. The boy uses all of his strength: pushing and pulling the door, kicking and punching- but even with his strength the door won't move. The boy falls onto the floor with his back to the door and tears in his eyes, he screams and hugs his legs for comfort. His friend comes closer, licks his tears and rests his head on the boy's legs. And they wait, together...
The boy wakes up with the sound of the lock being open and instinctively looks at the axe, but does not reach for it; waiting to see one of the Camp's Guards, he instead sees the man- holding a bowl in each hand.
