Dark Side of the Moon Part Four

FORGET ME NOT

1-10-03

Someday I know I must die,

That thought makes me cry,

Not that I’m afraid of death,

Or fear to take that last breath.

I fear leaving my wonderful family,

Wife and daughter, so close to me.

I mostly fear being forgotten,

Memories of me being down-trodden.

I hope they kindly remember me,

And in their minds my picture see,

Their memories offer a fleeting chance,

To come to life within their glance.

Memories give the dearly dead,

A chance to live in someone’s head,

When they think of me they’ll find,

I came back to life inside their mind.

Red roses, daisies, marigolds, beautiful sights,

Sandy and Mara, such superb delights,

A husband and father who loved them a lot,

And all I ask is:  FORGET ME NOT.

A TIME TO…1-31-2003

A time to live, a time to die,

A time to say Hello, a time to say Good-bye.

A time for trouble, a time for peace,

A time for stress, a time for release.

A time to laugh, a time to cry,

A time to ask, “What?” A time to ask, “Why?”

A time for hate, a time for love,

A time for the hawk, a time for the dove.

A time to be young, a time to be old,

A time to stand tall, a time to fold.

A time to be happy, a time to be sad,

A time to be bitter, a time to be glad.

A time to be nice, a time to be mean,

A time to hide, a time to be seen.

A time to fight, a time to play,

A time for night, a time for a day.

A time for love, a time for war,

A time to feel great, a time to feel sore.

A time to begin, a time to end,

A time for your enemy, a time for your friend.

A time to think of heaven, a time to think of hell,

A time to end your pain, a time for your death knell.

A time to think about time, and when it will run out,

A time to think of your life, and what it was all about.

RED RADIO FLYER

2-10-03

Maragold in a red radio-flyer,

daddy pulling her along,

four wagon wheels rolling

smoothly along the cellar floor.

laughter and happiness riding with her.

Papa hooked the red radio-flyer

to Maragold’s red tricycle.

she rides in that red radio-flyer while

her papa pushes the red tricycle.

Their concrete highway travelled,

they pass by a cardboard-box house,

filled with empty orange juice cans.

the cellar walls echoed with the

sounds of playfulness and love.

Such wonderful days spent,

pulling my pretty Maragold,

in her red radio-flyer wagon,

and she gladly paid the toll,

to her papa, who played the troll.

LITTLE BOY LOST

2-14-03

The bastard and the bitch,

threw me into a dirty ditch,

left me far behind,

so cruel, so unkind.

A little boy lost,

needing parental love the most,

growing up so unsure and afraid,

and feeling so damned betrayed.

Full of anger, even hate,

thinking failure was his fate,

every success was a great surprise,

viewed through his sad, drooping eye.

The bastard and the bitch, now long dead,

but still those thoughts inside his head,

filled with sadness and self-doubt,

still feeling like an angry lout.

An adult, still feeling childhood pain,

from bad memories, guilt and shame.

it does no good to point and blame,

when life remains the same.

BEST OF THE BEST

3-12-03

From nadir, to zenith, to nadir again,

such is the story of life.

From weakness, to strength, to weakness again,

a sad, then happy, then sad again life.

From dependence, to independence, to dependence,

it’s the universal story of life that takes us

from infancy to adulthood, to old age and death.

Life is sad, then happy, then sad again at the end.

But at least I had time,

to be the best of the best husbands,

and the best of the best fathers,

and lucky to have the best of the best wife,

as well as the best of the best daughter,

and as long as I have them by my side,

my sadness does not rule my life.

I know I was a good husband.

I know I was a good father.

I know I was a good teacher,

although I may not have been a good man.

Black and stormy thoughts,

have been a problem, at times,

but thoughts of my family,

have constantly blown the darkness away,

and spread sunshine on my stormy thoughts.

They have saved me from myself.

I love you, Sandy. I love you Mara.

DEPRESSION WISH…3-23-03

Sometimes I wish I were dead

I’ll shoot a lethal, lump of lead,

Into my dazed and depressed head.

Or struggle futilely for one last breath,

As I hang, swing and dance to the tune of death.

Maybe a lethal liquid down my parched throat,

To help me cross the River Stix in a rotted boat.

Why not Japanese seppuku to end my life?

Cutting my viscera with a razor-sharp knife.

I may just drive off some steep cliff,

While wondering, “What would my life be like IF?”

A pleasing pile of pills fill my pale hand.

I see my grave, six feet beneath muck and sand.

I see my once youthful, iron body rust.

I see my youth and strength turn to choking dust.

When my life is over,

The wind, earth and water will take me to their breast,

And then a long, numb eternity can determine the rest.

THE WELL

3-29-03

At the bottom of a black well, in this depression deep,

I look hopelessly upward and begin to weep.

Far, far above, two faces suddenly appear,

Perhaps they are hope that better days are near.

The two faces float in the light above.

Two beautiful, smiling faces filled with love.

Such gloriously radiantly happy faces and so bright,

Surrounded by shimmering halos of glittering sunlight.

Their waving hands beckon me to return to them,

Like I was a valued and long lost gem.

My spirit soars as I reach to them afar

But my feet remain anchored, stuck in tar.

I desperately struggle and pull myself free,

But I’m anchored like the roots of a mature oak tree.

This well, so deep and a lonely, cramped space,

So black, so ominous, such an awful sad place.

No use to struggle, my legs won’t come free,

This thick blackness still has a hold on me.

Those two faces throw something, then grin,

I see it drop and twirl in a downward spin.

Continued

But still there seems to be no hope,

Until I see that that long, strong rope.

A flicker appears of a long lost smile,

That’s been missing for quite a while.

I grab and pull until both feet come free,

But still, something evil has a hold on me.

It has invisible arms that grab my leg,

I’m furious and want to scream and beg.

Looking up I see those loving faces far above,

And feel their warmth, their comfort and love.

I ask, “How long must I stay in this prison black?”

Hoping for the day of resurrection so I can go back?

“When can I shed these bloody, damn chains,

These awful burdens, these emotional pains?”

“When can I rise from the depths of this well?

How do I escape this hopeless hell?”

“When can I rise to greet those faces above?

To hold them and give them all of my love?”

What happiness I’ve had, I owe to those two,

My wife, my daughter, my best friends true.

I know I’m to blame, I constructed this well,

Somewhere I stumbled and downward I fell.

But Sandy and Mara are my wealth and health,

So this depression must come from not loving myself.

…………….ILYBBCSGSMGS…………….

 

SHOOTING STAR…4-5-2003

I was five years and one month old,

The beginning of a strange story told.

On August 25th I stared at the night sky,

Too young to know exactly why.

It was just a funny feeling I had,

A peculiar feeling for such a young lad.

A shooting star burst into sight,

It’s glowing head and tail so bright.

Somewhere close, someone special was born,

And in 20 years, my life she would adorn.

Such thoughts rarely come to little boys,

Their thoughts dominated by play and toys.

As I grew, I often, to myself said,

Something wonderful lies ahead.

In September of 1970 Sandy appeared to me,

I was 25 years and 20 was she.

In 1972 I married the woman in my dream,

In 1979 the birth of my daughter made my face beam.

In the 1970, 1972 and 1979 years,

My life was flooded with joyous tears.

Over 30 years later I still look up high,

Looking for grand children in the night sky.

REGRETS…4-8-03

I wish I were emotionally stronger.

The years have sapped my strength.

Age is often like quicksand,

The more you struggle, the more you sink.

Or age is like molasses flowing over you,

Slowing you down, little by little, each year.

I look back with sadness at the past,

In spite of all that I have accomplished.

I tend to illuminate my weaknesses, my mistakes,

Let my achievements wither like plants without sunlight.

I am not as positive as I was in my youth,

Negative thoughts, actions dominate me now.

I have much to love, much I should be proud of,

But a shroud of sadness usually blocks those thoughts.

Half a lifetime of teaching; has it done any good?

I often think that it has not, yet I know that it should.

Chemicals seep slowly into my bloodstream,

My blood, like a river, just gets polluted with them.

I have difficulty getting up most mornings,

I’m weak, depressed and don’t want to face the day.

Continued

I want to stay home, isolate myself in a cocoon,

Close the doors and windows on responsibilities.

The days now seem extra-long,

And my patience too short,

As my happiness shrinks and falters,

Like a flower garden where the

Colorful flowers wither,

But the ugly weeds survive, grow and flourish.

I have often tried to escape this prison,

Whose walls have been impregnable,

And whose atmosphere is hellishly hot.

Once in a while the prison gates do open,

And the love of Sandy and Mara penetrate,

But soon the black hand of a demon

Pulls and drags me down,

Away from them and out of reach.

I am tired of the struggle.

I’ve been weakened by many years of struggling.

I don’t know how long I can continue

Walking on this razor-blade road

When life, for me, is a barefoot journey,

And the pain has knocked me off my

Path too many times.

Off in the wrong direction

I have strayed too often.

I’ve lost my youth and vigor,

And the road I now walk is a DEAD END.

SARCOPHAGUS

5-21-2003

Such a cold, damp and dark place,

This, my final, eternal home;

Where my flesh, blood and bones rot,

As I lie in this sarcophagus of stone.

Here I lie with brain decay,

Staring up at depths of wormy dirt,

But I’m at rest and I’m at peace now,

Because my younger life had too much hurt.

Such a Janus-faced man was I,

Two selves hidden behind a lie,

And never really knowing why,

Not even when it was time to die.

As I lie in a putrid, body-fluid pool,

I wonder how I became such a fool,

And such a grand fool was I,

Because I could so easily fool myself.

But my sad life is over now,

I’ve helped and hurt so many others,

But, I wonder, have I created more sorrow,

Than the number of people I’ve helped?

It’s frigid, wet, and so silent down here,

As I lie frozen on my hard stone bed,

My tomb is harsh, stiff and unforgiving,

Like my thoughts which are so morbid.

Continue

I hear digging from far above.

I hear laughter, cheerfulness and love.

Now I see and feel sunshine as two pairs of hands,

Carry me away as if they were using magic wands.

Suddenly I’m warm, happy, alive and free,

And so glad my two ladies rescued me,

But is it too good to be true, this feminine team?

Is this warmth and happiness just a mean dream?

MORIBUND

6-1-03

The earth spins, but I cannot feel it.

Air keeps me alive, but I cannot see it.

My life is too often like the earth and air.

I’m spinning wildly with little or no feeling,

Rotating in never ending, boring, monotonous circles,

Revolving through the same orbit year after year,

Kept alive by the invisible air,

But wondering if I’d be better off dead.

No more malicious spinning.

No more sadness and self-hatred.

No more need for invisible sustenance.

No more need for work and worry.

No more stress from dead-lines and demands.

No more hectic paces or anxieties.

No more repressive, burdensome responsibilities.

No more need to eat, breathe or shit.

No more loneliness, disappointment and depression.

Prometheus, steal some fire for me

Because my life’s flame has burned out.

Morpheus, give me untroubled dreams, not nightmares,

And rescue me from my morbid, moribund thoughts.

GONE LIKE A BEAUTIFUL SONG

9-5-2003

My Maragold is gone,

Like a beautiful song.

Another man wants her hand

To take her to a faraway land.

And I, helpless, stand by and watch

A young man that I can’t match

Take my daughter and move away

When I desperately need her to stay.

Now we are miles and miles apart,

Which leaves a void within my heart.

That void grows more deep and wide.

It makes me feel ill and hollow inside.

I always want for her the very best,

To marry, be happy and build her own nest,

Even though it hurts me, makes me sad,

I bare the pain because I’m her loving dad.

Many times sad, lonely tears fill my eyes,

As I recognize our loosening family ties,

So close, so very close we used to be,

Now, so far, she’s moved away from me.

Gone to a hot and distant land,

Into the arms of another man.

I LOVE HER

I MISS HER.

NOTE: Written before we moved to Florida

WORDS…9-6-03

Sometimes words

Let you soar like majestic birds,

But many times words

Are as useless as turds.

I think of my Maragold and

Try to put memories into words,

But the words are dull, too simple,

While the memories pleasantly complex.

I think of my Maragold and

Try to put beauty into words,

But words can seldom convey,

The beauty my eyes can see.

I think of my Maragold and

Try to put pride into words,

But my broad smile and sparkling eyes,

Say it so much better than words.

I think of my Maragold and

Use words to say, I love you,

But those words are no match,

For receiving love and returning it.

WRESTLING WITH A DEMON

11-18-03

He wrestled with his demon,

But could not beat it.

It over-powered him.

It crushed him.

It eventually annihilated him,

And any goodness

He might have possessed.

It threw him into the abyss

Of life-long darkness and pain.

He died there in that blackness,

In damp darkness that was

Both his coffin and his grave.

But that demon didn’t die with him.

It rushed up out of that black void

Like putrid vomit from an alcoholic’s throat,

Splashing foul poison over that man’s son,

And now the son’s burden is that same demon

Whose goal is to annihilate him, too.

In his youth (perhaps like his father)

He fought the demon to a standstill,

Although furious battles raged between them,

And severe mental scars were inflicted.

But neither demon nor son

Could gain the upper hand,

At least not while the son was young

Because youth gives strength and mental acuity.

Continued

But, alas, the tide turned slowly against the son

As he traveled from youth to middle age,

And weakened both physically and mentally.

The demon did not age, did not lose strength.

Now the son sees and feels the demon’s

Poison spreading, saturating his body.

The son, now fifty-eight, cries in private,

Not for himself, but for his only daughter

Whom he dreads will inherit the demon’s poison.

His heart aches to think that

She may be next in line

To have to do battle with the demon

Who will do his best to harm her,

To destroy her happiness.

That would be an agony for him to live with

Because hurting her would be tantamount

To killing a melodic Mockingbird

Like in Harper Lee’s book where it is said

That it is a sin to kill a Mockingbird.

Why is it a sin?

Because his daughter, like that Mockingbird,

Brings nothing but beautiful songs

And laughter to other people’s hearts,

And does nothing to harm anyone; therefore,

It is a sin to kill beauty, joy and innocence.

The son hopes that the demon of depression,

That his father spawned (and passed on),

Will die when he dies,

And never reach nor contaminate

His dearest, precious daughter,

Nor her offspring, nor their offspring

Forever and ever and ever and ever.

BLINK OF AN EYE

12-16-03

Don’t blink your eye,

your youth will die.

Your youth growing cold.

Your skin growing old.

Yesterday I was young and strong.

Sadly, I blinked and life went wrong.

Yesterday I looked down the road,

a million miles from getting old.

I blinked and sped a million miles,

then age destroyed my sunny smiles.

I don’t want to whine or swear,

since age has caused my despair.

Yesterday the sun shone bright and

those youthful days were a delight.

I blinked and now those days are gone.

My spirited tune became a sad song.

Yesterday is gone for me.

I blinked and now I sadly see,

I no longer “think I can,”

I blinked and became a sad, old man.

CRIPPLED WARRIOR…12-26-03

I am a drained and crippled warrior,

with no hope of a valiant savior,

a scared warrior all my life,

always battling emotional strife.

Day after day I continue to fight,

I battle myself all day, all night,

I have gladly lost my fear of death,

even seeking to take my last breath.

every day becomes more black,

I cannot fight my way back,

I’m on a dead-end road,

carrying my guilty load.

A lifetime of shameful deeds,

I’m the offspring of putrid seeds,

now my question is not what or why,

but whether or not it’s time to die.

I hate to leave my daughter and wife,

but depression has destroyed my life.

I am tired of all this mental pain,

I am tired of life’s cruel game.

My joys always turn pitifully sad,

making death look not so bad.

Is not death the place to run,

when life is drained of its fun?

MR. FIX-IT…1-4-04

I’m Mr. fix-it, master of repairs,

fixing sinks, toilets, doors, and chairs.

The other day I fixed the car,

then a stuck lid off a jar.

The folding door somehow got stuck,

then I fixed a flat tire on my truck.

The muffler rattled on the van.

Can I really fix that?  Yes I can.

I can even repair a torn book,

or quickly put up a wall hook.

What I use most for my repair supplies,

even to me is quite a surprise.

It seems the two things I use the most,

are in large supply and of little cost.

Sandy shakes her head and laughs at me,

I’m her Mr. fix-it, the busy worker bee.

I grab those two things and pliers too,

it seems there’s no repair I can’t do.

My daughter wants me to fix her bike,

but I don’t mind and I usually like,

being Mr. fix-it in our home.

Wife and daughter, to me they come,

to make some sort of quick repair,

because Mr. Fix-it is always there.

Superman can’t fly without his cape,

Mr. Fix-it needs a coat hanger, glue and duct tape.

MY TURN…1-6-04

Though in a large group

they seemed all alone,

standing in that line outside

the white funeral home.

The sight made me wonder

who would stand in line for me?

One or two, perhaps, and

if I’m lucky, maybe three.

I journey through life

and often wonder why

I’ve lived this long

and didn’t sooner die.

My accomplishments seem trivial,

wife and daughter being the best.

Not being like my abusive parents

is the best of the rest.

So what has my life come to?

Is it just six feet of dirt?

Perhaps a bowl or vase of ashes?

Or being able to withstand hurt?

To live long is to learn

that I must take my turn

when death makes my body squirm

while being eaten by the worm.

I have loved two greatly

and been loved mostly by two

but I often feel confused and lost

viewing life through a melancholy hue.

THE RIVER…1-15-04

There is a shallow, polluted river

silently slashing through my mind.

It seems to give me life,

yet shades it darkly.

It gives me abundant energy,

but uses it to fuel my depression.

It inundates my plain thoughts with toxic sediments,

leaving a top layer of exposed, silty sin,

a middle layer of grating, sandy shame,

and a jagged edged, lowly-layer of gravely guilt.

My darkly stained river meanders,

like a cancerous snake.

Its current controlled by mysterious ebony forces.

Its path restricted by battered, crumbling banks.

Its raging waters biting viciously

at those confining banks and river bed,

increasing the width and depth

of its own self-destructive pain.

My deadly river is many miles from its source,

and has almost run through its full course.

If death is poor and life is wealth,

why do I wish to take my last breath?

THE GREAT WALL

1-30-04

A great wall.

A great wall to surround me.

A great wall to isolate me.

A great wall to keep the human hordes away.

A great wall to silence those marauding hordes.

A great, high wall.

A great, long wall.

A great, thick wall.

An impregnable wall to repel those who seek me.

A great, cold, hard wall,

sturdy and invulnerable.

A great, cold, hard wall that I thought

was going to save me.

A great, cold, hard, high, thick, long wall

that turned out to be my cold tombstone,

and when that great wall crumbled,

the Huns of depression rammed through it,

destroying my peace, tranquility, calm, quiet,

and then my life.

KILLING TIME…2-4-04

Is there nothing to look forward to any more

except the rest of an aging and boring life?

Is life a complex way to kill time

until time eventually kills you?

Is helping others a disguised selfishness?

Is conversation simply a way to expel, foul air

from one’s mouth using different sounds to do it?

Is hearing just a matter of our ears collecting

the nonsense sounds from expelled air?

Is sight just a torturous presentation of

guilt-laden images from the past and present?

Are feelings and emotions bad things when

they turn out to be mostly sad things?

Is happiness just a grand illusion that a

parched man follows in life’s dessert?

Is hope just a pitifully bad joke because hope

is the illusion that precedes pseudo-happiness?

Why is thinking so respected and cherished

when most thoughts aren’t worth a dirty penny?

Why are false religious beliefs so sacred when

they result in more evilness than goodness?

Are questions like these worth anything?

Is anything in life worth the effort to question?

REMEMBER WHEN…2-12-04

My wife:

Remember when you thought my jokes were funny?

Remember when I was your knight in shining armor?

Remember when I dominated your thoughts?

Remember when my happiness was your priority?

Remember when we used to shower together?

Remember when we were inseparable?

Remember when our love was young, fresh, vibrant?

Remember when we just could not be without each other?

Remember when we were each other’s universe?

Remember when we would do anything for each other?

Remember when you had respect for me?

Do you remember when all these things waned, melted, changed,

diminished, or were altered or weakened?

My daughter:

Remember when I was your wonderful hero?

Remember when you trusted my judgment?

Remember when we could talk about anything?

Remember when you liked to talk to me?

Remember when you were proud to be my daughter?

Remember when we didn’t argue, but loved?

Remember when you treated me with respect?

Remember when no man could ever replace me?

Remember when my innocent talk did not make you angry?

Remember when we rode bicycles as two close friends?

Remember when you loved how i taught you how to drive?

Do you remember when all these things waned, melted, changed,

diminished, or were altered or weakened?

NOTE: Sandy and Mara, I came back to this poem a few years later

and knew that I must have been in a bad depression to have

written this. I apologize.

RENDEZVOUS

2-15-04

I hear my tete-a-tete with Mr. black.

It’s useless to curse him or talk back.

He stands overlooking cemetery hill,

patiently waiting for my life to kill.

I approach him vis-à-vis.

I feel his eyes slice into me.

I see his gaze so full of wrath,

getting more mad as I laugh.

He says my life he’ll suddenly end,

just down the road and around the bend.

I tell him I’ll go right now, and fast.

My lack of fear enlarging his hated vast.

He says he’ll come for me in the spring.

He sees in me the relief he’ll bring.

I have made a rendezvous with him,

to give him my heart full of sin.

And if spring turns into the summer season,

his delay must have a very good reason.

So we’ll rendezvous in the summer time,

which, for a hellion, should be just fine.

But summer may not be the best

time to put Mr. Black to the test.

Our rendezvous may need more delay,

If Mr. Black can’t find the appropriate way.

Continued

I hear stalking steps from the man in black.

I feel his icy breath frost my back.

I see my rendezvous with death,

as my smile turns into my last breath.

So then we’ll rendezvous in the fall,

where all he has to do is call,

and I shall gladly take his hand,

and follow him to his desolate land.

But if Mr. Black likes winter well,

and chooses then to escort me to hell,

I will surrender my life that was free,

because hell is the place that I should be.

When I arrive at that domain of fire,

I will not raise my hand to inquire,

why to hell I have been sent,

because it’s where my fate was meant.

I’ve long known my heart is black with sin,

and nothing could change me from within,

I’ve always known that I belong,

in the hellish choir, singing the devil’s song.

I wanted to be so good, but fell far short,

like a ship sinking far from a safe port,

so if Mr. Black will come this night,

I’ll rendezvous with him without a fight.

I’ll howl, “Come take me. I’m all yours,

with all my sins and mental sores.

Come lead me down that fiery path.

Let me witness your hellish wrath.”

Continued

He says he can erase the past,

nullify my sorrows and make it last,

and I won’t even have to cry.

All I have to do is die.

At night I climb into bed to sleep,

I close my eyes and do not weep,

but in the morning I stay in bed,

to sleep and dream of being dead.

Perhaps Mr. Black is really a friend,

enjoying my misery, but making it end,

but I know he’s a deceptive, evil jerk,

named Satan holding an assassin’s dirk.

That evil creation wants my life so bad,

but doesn’t know that he’s been had.

I’m not running away, why doesn’t he know,

I’m laughing at him because I want to go.

So now it’s time to stop this talk,

and get on with that last, long walk.

I grab Mr. Black by his flaming hair,

and proceed down to my destiny’s lair.

LIFE IS LIKE…2-21-04

Life is like a lonely person walking

inside a never ending, dense forest

where each tree represents an

obstacle (problem) standing in the

coveted path that, supposedly, leads

to the person’s happiness as he

................. keeps  searching..............

The person is born in the forest

and while young he travels little,

therefore he comes in contact with

only the local trees (problems) as he

..................keeps searching................

As the person grows, becomes independent

and travels to explore his world

he encounters a myriad amount of trees.

Everywhere he goes there are trees.

Small, medium, and large trees

that do not allow him to proceed in a

timely, straight line toward his goal

of happiness, so he

.................keeps searching..................

To find the path that leads to happiness

the person must see each and every tree

as a road block to his goal and he must

devise alternate routes which only place

him on other serpentine paths around and

between other trees, which delay him,

indefinitely from reaching goal, so he

................keeps searching....................

Continued

So many trees encountered in his lifetime

with branches that block the light and

exposed roots which trip and stagger him,

especially in the verdant summer season

when the lush foliage blocks a clear view

of the path. all he seems to do is bounce from

one tree to another, losing sight of the path,

so he

.........................keeps searching...................

Sometimes, like during the fall and winter,

when the branches are naked and can

no longer use their leaves for clothing,

the person’s destination seems within sight,

and the search seems as if it will reach

fruition and his goal will be accomplished

so that his search can end in triumph.

But it was only a malicious mirage, so he

.........................keeps searching................

The trees may thin out, but they never end.

He sees that the search has consumed his whole life

and each passing day and each passing year it

strips more and more away from the substance

of his hope.  Should he

.........................keep searching?.....................

Also each year brings new vines, new bushes,

bigger trees to surround and entangle him,

making the path that he uses to skirt each tree

even more difficult to reach his goal and,

making the search slower, more difficult and,

more stressful, frustrating, tiresome, hopeless.

Continued

He feels like a pin-ball bouncing off the trees,

losing control, losing sight of the path and then,

losing his balance, desires, motivations. should he

...........................keep searching?.......................

Now he sees the shattered skeletons of others

who were on this same path before him,

those who faltered, were engulfed, consumed

by those barked giants that block their hopes.

Time also erodes and conceals the paths,

and, with his aging, the search becomes nearly

impossible to accomplish. With his youth now gone,

the stress is too much and the fatigue too great.

Recognizing his failure, he embraces sadness,

then breathes heavily and asks, “Why should I continue?”

................................keep searching............................

Realizing that he’s wasted his whole life seeking

the end of that formidable forest,

where no trees stand,

where the sun shines,

where flowers flourish,

where the grass is lush,

where greenness and happiness abounds,

he should have been seeking a clearing

where some happiness could be found,

As a temporary oasis to purge his sadness,

but his realization came too late.

So now he collapses, and sees, carven on a stone:

...................................RIP?.............................?

HEAVY HEART…3-5-04

There’s a hole in my heart

as big as my ugly head,

and my heart is so heavy

as if full of toxic lead.

My heart is so empty

it mirrors my life,

it’s vital blood spurting out

as if punctured by a knife.

I feel empty, hollow,

so hopeless, so sad.

I think of my life

and see I’m a cad.

I feel so wasted

so joyless, so bad.

I see myself as a

useless husband and dad.

My future is in darkness,

I’m engulfed by the night.

Darkness is my shroud

and I’ve given up the fight.

My days are all boring,

my nights even worse.

I feel like I’m ready

to lie in my hearse.

All talk and no action,

I must be a coward.

Perhaps in the near future,

death’s arms I’ll run toward.

DUEL…3-10-04

We boldly walked toward each other

Down the dusty western street.

It was an arrogant, but confident stride

That ended in gunfighter’s stance.

Grim stares passed between us

As the gap between our life or death closed.

He was dressed in darkness

With eyes that glinted red.

He was darkness with black hat, and

Black boots with jingling spurs.

His long, pale fingered hands

Held close to the pistols on each hip.

A contemptuous smile on his face

Like a bloody, thin lipped knife slash,

And hateful eyes that bored into me.

I approached him cautiously

Dressed in contrasting white and black

With white hat and shirt

And black pants and boots

But no ornamental, ostentatious spurs.

A Colt Peacemaker riding my right hip.

With my right thumb near the hammer.

I returned his confident smile,

Minus his innate arrogance.

I returned his evil stare,

With my own unconcerned glare,

As I stopped and took my stance.

He was just twenty feet away,

As I visualized my bullet killing him.

Continued

The sun overhead, it was high noon,

Any second now he would be dead.

His reputation for speed known wide,

But my accuracy a matter of great pride.

His eyes flashed as he started his draw,

My hand jerking into motion too.

Both our guns came free of their holsters,

The metallic click of hammers seemed loud.

Both our right arms, with pistols, extended,

Our eyes sighting down the barrels.

A flash of fire shot from each gun,

Bullets sped toward their targets.

Time frosted, then froze,

I smiled as I saw his frown.

My bullet passed through him,

Like a bird through a cloud.

But I heard him cry out,

I could feel his pain,

But the cry and pain was really mine,

As his bullet ripped through my brain.

“Don’t happy cowboys ride

Into the golden, setting sun?

Then where do sad cowboys go

When their shattered lives are done?”

My blood poured out as darkness fell.

This arrogant cowboy is going to hell.

BURNING BRIDGES…3-25-04

Burning bridges, burning bright,

Burning through my brain at night.

I lie awake and can’t forget,

All the times that I regret.

My life is a spreading stain,

Slashed by self-inflicted pain.

I want, yet don’t want friends,

So angry, yet want to make amends.

My life seems like such a lie,

So I’m trapped here until I die.

I’m not who they think I am.

I’m not steak, I’m just Spam.

An imposter who slipped through the crack,

Like a rogue train, but on the right track.

I don’t deserve the success I’ve had.

Dark thoughts and deeds, I’m a bad lad.

It’s only pure and simple luck

That kept me from the criminal muck.

Not really bright, just pseudo-smart,

My life deserved to be torn apart.

Continued

Not deserving of daughter and wife,

Nor their love that filled my life.

Over my head an ominous black cloud,

Descending slowly to become my shroud.

I’ve veered onto the path to death,

Soon it’s time for my final breath.

Leaving the life that pure luck built,

Getting destroyed by sins and guilt.

Unable to think or act right,

Knowing that I’m not very bright.

So easy to fool myself in youth,

So easy to hide from the sad truth.

Now age has me in its vile grip,

Wisdom gone on an unwanted trip.

Will Penny spoke with a true heart,

“I’m too soon old and too late smart.”

NOTE: Will Penny is the character that Charlton

Heston played in a western movie by the same name.

SHE SINGS…5-23-04

She sings before she sleeps,

Accompanied by an orchestra of rain.

Raindrops, like drum sticks, gently beat the roof.

Raindrops, like water bells, ringing on the window pane.

I hear her softly singing before I sleep,

A sweet symphony to my ears.

The rhythmic rain soothing to me, while

Her singing brings me to joyful tears.

Joyful tears are human rain,

They traverse my cheek,

As glorious memories race through my brain,

Making me feel strong, not weak.

She sings herself to sleep at night

As I lie awake across the hallway

Listening to her tranquil, melodic notes

That add a wonderful, finishing touch to my day.

She sings and my thoughts sour and shine

As my inner, deep darkness molts, and

My ears vibrate in ecstasy

From her glowing stream of sedating sounds.

She sings and makes me happy,

So hypnotic becomes the night.

Sleep embraces me with its cotton gloves

As I drift away on a cloud of love and light,

As Mara sings............zzzzzzzz..............

DAUGHTER…7-19-04

My daughter is such a wonderful thing,

Her love always makes my heart sing,

I love to see and feel her glowing smile,

Spreading warmth around me for a mile.

I gave her the gift of my time,

Because money was rarely mine,

She’s my child, my daughter, my friend,

And my love for her shall never end.

She came to me six pounds of wonder,

With a wailing voice quite like thunder,

A man can have many a fine dream,

But the best is of a father and daughter team.

My daughter is love so very fine,

Like the beauty in a lovely rhyme,

Or the gentleness of a loving face,

And the comforting feeling of delicate lace.

She’s grown; she’s suddenly gone,

And now I feel very much alone,

Too far away, I wish she were near,

Because losing her is my dreaded fear.

I am her Papa, I am proudly he,

Who always wants her face to see,

And she should always know she’ll be,

So very precious and loved by me.

So many years go by as jets,

So many days pass like rockets,

So many good memories of our shared past,

Solid-gold memories that forever last.

I’ve long passed my manly prime,

Now it is her deserved prime time,

But it won’t be awful getting old,

If her and grandchildren I can hold.

DEMONS VS. ANGELS

7-23-04

Demons and angels vice-grip my hands,

Wanting to pull me to their cherished lands,

In which direction would I finally go?

The demons were winning, but their pull was slow.

Angels fought demons to posses me whole,

Demons were slowly pulling me into their hole,

I gazed at those demons with watery eyes,

While being pulled away from angelic skies.

I floated to the edge of life’s black abyss,

Feeling the rest of my life I’d surely miss,

Being dragged, pulled, feeling helpless,

Life flashing before me; a cinematic mess.

The angels yanked and steered me away,

So my death would come another day,

But to my core I felt irrevocably stained,

The putrid blackness of those demons remained.

Demons and angles compete for my life,

Trying to drag me from my daughter and wife,

I battled weakly against opponents strong,

I want neither, so the battle will be long.

Continued

Rejecting both demons and angels, I survived,

I thought I’d die, yet somehow I lived,

But too much bad and not enough good,

One foot in hell is where I stood.

Few people know the guilt I feel,

For bad deeds all too very real,

It amazes me that I’ve lived this long,

And I wonder, “Am I really that strong.”

Some love me, some hate me, most with good reason,

Even love and hate must have their season,

But too much about me turns me sad,

Too few the good, too much the bad.

PRINCESS GRACE…11-7-04

She was friendly; she was nice,

But I saw her only as a vice.

But now I know that it was me;

Depression, ugliness I did see.

Not her fault; I was mean

Over her stare, I made a scene.

The next day she was gone

Because I was mean and very wrong.

So many years have gone by

In private I think and cry.

I always as myself, WHY?

The answer? I’m a depressed guy.

I’m ruled by oppressive mood,

Ingest it like poisoned food.

In my blood, part of me,

In the mirror, depression to see.

My woman loved her fully

As I was a bastard bully.

Princess did not deserve

The rage that I did serve.

She used to be my good friend.

Depression led to an awful end.

She got a new home free of me,

But she haunts my guilty memory.

I was bad; she was sad.

I was a cad for getting mad.

My punishment has been years

Of hidden jeers and tears.

QUICKSAND…6-6-05

Life is a series of pits full

of quicksand.

Mistakes, regrets pull me

into quicksand.

I feel myself slowly sinking

into quicksand.

I can’t move my legs in this

thick quicksand.

I flail my arms and sink deeper

into quicksand.

The more I struggle the farther I sink

into quicksand.

I’m up to my neck in this wet,

gritty quicksand.

I shake my head and struggle in this

killer quicksand.

I’m choking as my mouth fills with

wet quicksand.

My nose is now plugged

with quicksand.

Soon my eyes will be robbed of sight

by quicksand.

Last thought: There is no helping hand

in quicksand.

WINTER WALK…8-10-05

He smiled as he ran along the sunny road.

He saw the colorful, spring flowers.

Then he jogged on carpets of plush green grass.

He felt the vigor and excitement of his youth.

Later, he marveled at the summer’s warmth,

And its lush, leafy trees and bushes.

He enjoyed those long, sunny days of leisure,

Feeling strong, proud and almost invincible.

Then time slipped by him in vast chunks,

Like icebergs in a swift ocean current.

Now, in fall, his vigor and excitement diminished,

The bright colors of spring and summer faded fast.

Now he strains to walk in the dull, gray winter,

His stride much slower, far less confident,

And he wonders how long this winter walk will take,

Until he rests under a thick blanket of snow.

DARK TOWER…3-15-12

From a church tower

In a perfect little town,

The flaming eyes of death,

Searches all around

From its dark tower

Evil does surround,

And death smiles

At all the dark souls found.

Why a church tower?

Does death mock?

Saying God is just smoke,

And the idea just a crock.

What is good, is also evil.

What is evil, is also good.

Whoever says that Good is pure

Has a fantasy made of manure.

Nor is Evil black, I say.

Mostly it’s a fluctuating gray.

From another church

On the far side of town,

Is that Goodness, looking with a frown,

Dressed in a hole-y gown?

Now Good and Evil search the sky,

At battleship colored clouds.

Good displays a displeased frown,

But Evil laughs as the day dies.

MOON MAN ONE…4-9-2006

His face is like the new moon.

His smile shines full and bright.

His friends will see him soon,

And say he’s such a delight.

A three-quarters or half moon smile,

Make his face light up the night.

His friends only see humor, not guile.

No one sees his darkness, only his light.

But when he and a mirror are alone,

His bright smile fades from sight,

And a guilty, angry voice takes an ugly tone,

As his smile turns as dark as midnight.

Moon Man struggles day after day.

He has an evil secret to hide,

And one day he knows he much pay,

For his well-disguised dark side.

Moon Man suffers to keep evil at bay,

Fighting a curse he did not pick.

He sees his life being ripped away,

If loved-ones see him as a lunatic.

Moon Man’s terror is silent,

Feeling happy once in a blue moon.

His suffering will never relent,

As he dances to the gloom of an evil tune.

Trying to endure life’s pain,

Pretending his gloom and doom are silly,

Four names help him stay sane:

Sandy, Mara, Slone, and Lily.

MOON MAN TWO…8-12-2006

Those who look, don’t see sin,

Just a humorous glow shinning from him.

A glow as bright as the summer sun,

Playful, cheerful and so much fun.

Friends laugh with him and cheer,

At joyous jokes they like to hear.

Humor, laughter is all they see,

Not pain grown from sapling to tree.

A smile like a bright crescent moon,

Glowing like the sun at high noon.

Warm eyes that show gladness,

But conceal too much sadness.

Sadness hidden in a jester’s mask,

Such a hated and painful task.

He tries to forget his haunting past,

A futile struggle that doesn’t last.

Visions of regrettable, and dirty deeds,

Humor can’t kill those secret seeds.

Continued

Guilt, like multiple cancers, grows,

Pummeling him with crippling blows.

So, away from guilt he’ll run,

Creating laughter, pretending fun.

And all his friends will still see,

A funny guy, so happy and free.

If not for precious daughter and wife,

He’d tell a joke, then take his life.

But perhaps all his guilt is silly,

Compared to loving Slone and Lily.

Maybe we all want to hide,

From the stalking specter or our dark side.

BE WITH ME

12-17-07

Please be with me

As I fade away.

My vision blurring,

My speech slurring,

My heart weak,

Pain at its peak.

I see both of you,

And happiness cloaks me,

As your sadness brings tears.

I feel my old hands in yours.

Their comfort numbs my pain.

You comfort me as I slip away.

My dry mouth mumbles,

And my speech fumbles,

As unknown sounds escape.

I smile proudly at you both.

My eyes sparkle with joy.

My last breath exhales,

And on that breath sails

Those mumbled sounds repeat:

“Sandy, Mara, Lily, Slone.”

Continued

My heart is failing,

My last memories are of all of you.

Now I feel no pain.

You should feel no blame or shame,

Because I feel the joy of your touch,

And I know that you are with me,

As I die a very happy man.

But as you see me die,

My happy memories will fly

Into each of you,

So you’ll always know,

How very happy you made me,

And how very proud I was,

To be a husband, father and Da.

Do not be sad for me.

Please continue to be happy.

I rest in peace with happy memories of you.

Please be in peace with happy memories of me.

SETTING SUN

6-20-08

Pulled toward the setting sun,

Knowing life is nearly done,

But not wanting to leave,

And leave others to grieve.

Life has been mostly good, so far

Though suffering from many a scar,

But when it’s time to finally go,

I hope it won’t be painfully slow.

Memories flood my aged brain,

Mostly good, but many are shame,

Thoughts of family, I’m not alone,

Sandy, Mara, Lily and Slone.

I’ve had my glory days in the sun,

Dark clouds approach, no use to run,

But sad is not what I will be,

If those I love remember me.