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I shall walk

I have been at war far too long.
I laid down to die,
Facing an undefeatable enemy.
I am battered, and broken.
My wounds are far to great.

I can fight no longer.
I cannot defeat them.
I can no longer fight.
As long as I struggle they will win,
But I do not surrender.

I lay down my weapons
I leave this savaged field
I no longer belong here.
Where I go they cannot follow.

Even though my bones are shattered
I crawl.
My wounds are deep and festered
Still I crawl.
My lungs are punctured
And still I crawl.

Every movement carries me,
Every step takes me,
One more inch from the brink of death.

My wounds become scars
And tell my story.
My lungs fill with newfound air
And give me power.
My bones mend
And give me strength.

Every movement carries me,
Every step takes me,
One more mile into myself.
A place where my enemies cannot follow.

Clawing, wrenching,
Tearing away inside
I feel flayed and spread open wide.
Covered in emotional gore.

A single thought escapes me.
Fleeting like the wind.
I grasp to hold on,
Fists clenched in hopeful futility.

I pray for the moments,
For peace to linger just a little longer.
Stability would be a blessing,
A wish whispered into the wind.

… And The World Turns

The path is dark
The eyes are blind
The feet struggle to secure a hold
Where does this trail lead?

If we knew would we stumble,
Or would we crawl,
Or would we move at all.

Can we run?
Should we fall?
Is heaven around the bend,
Or is it just another turn?

What are we meant to know,
The grandeur of life,
Or the bitterness of survival?
Maybe both simultaneously?

For now I wander down this path,
And approach the forthcoming bend.

The Edge of Perception

The time has passed
will the end come soon?
A wasteland a cracked barren earth is all I see.
a lizard scurries beyond my sight.

I hear a foreign sound at the edge of perception.
A laugh, a sob, a relieving sigh.
What are these sounds, who are they from?
They feel so familiar, like a dream from times forgotten.

There were moments when I know I felt.
There were moments when I knew I breathed.
Yet all I feel is just a hollow, logical story of pain.
When will my pen scribe a new script?
When will the song change to a joyous pitch?

Will they ever change,
or is this what I am meant to be?
A dream of fancy and fantasy.
A tale meant for some one else.

The sky is closing,
the clouds are fading,
the sun has extinguished in a feeble whimper.
The moon never rose.
Just the darkness of a bitch black cell.

The time has come,
the end is here.
Still the faintest sigh lingers at the edge of perception.

Her Whispers

Down in the basement staring at the mice,
I sit on the floor rolling dice.
The spiders creep along the floor.
The shelves creak with pain.
All alone I sit and stare.

The pain is astounding,
it rips my heart,
as i lay gasping for air.
Even though nothing harms me,
my soul crawls away from my carcass.

Why am I always this way,
even when I try I am always alone.
The freedom I have I let go to waste.
Emotions never exist in my husk of a self.
Why am I lonely?

The time has come to end the sorrow.
I shudder and shake with anticipation.
When the world seems to stop, I jump.
The fall is exciting, the leap enthralling.
When the ground nears the terror astounding.

Now I’m alone again.
Not a creature to stir.
No one to look at,
only the dirt.
It seems i am always alone.

Then someone stirs me.
Her beauty rivals a fairy’s.
She whispers into my ear,
as she lifts me into the sky.
No longer an I lonely.

The man on the mountaintop yells to us all.
Walk, run, speak, hush, touch, see, go, stop.
All of us below follow the commands of the man.
Being like him, feeling like him, talking like him.

Some hear the tapping of a small drum from across the way.
Follow the drum say some,
as some say, “Tell us Man on the Mountaintop.”

Others fall from the Man on the Mountaintop.
They wander aimlessly,
bumping into pillars of dark stone.
Then seeing a light of their own and follow.

Everyone sees a light, hears a drum, obeys a voice.
Some wander forever,
some never leave their leader,
some find a new leader,
some bump into pillars of darkness.

Faces fly through my mind,
they litter my sky.
Every where i go faces are all i see.
Faces dominate my thoughts.
Faces control my actions.

At certain times i see no face.
I control myself.
My soul soars.
I become Me,
All because the faces have left my side.

I love the times,
when I talk to the faceless Being.
I am a faceless Being and not a face.
I fear no face.
I am Me and not a face.

Some one stares back at me from the pool.
He looks and stares.
His face shows me many things.
What I choose not to see he reflects to me.
What I want to see he hides from me.

Why must he resurrect long dead feelings,
feelings I no longer want?
He shows me my other self,
the one i keep hidden.

Why can’t you show me myself?
He says, “I am.”
I stare deep into his rippling eyes.
I find myself deep inside.
I know now my full self,
the parts I hide and the parts I show.
Thank you my reflection in the pool.

The old man sits on a bench.
No one notices the wise old man.
No one knows the stories he knows.
Not one person can tell you his name.
No one really sees the old man.
No one speaks to him, as he sits on his bench.

No one except the small little birds.
They listen to his stories.
They know his name.
They speak to the kind old man,
They know the knowledge he holds,
They Know what others do not,
all because they see him on the bench.

The world rolls along in the black skies.
It happily hums it’s little tune,
the tune that only it knows.
The world has no cares,
just because it hums a little song.

While the world hums, people move,
caught up in the world’s rolling.
Never stop to think, never stop to listen,
the little tune flits past their ears.

Some people stop and listen,
they sit and don’t move.
The flitting hum finds their ears.
They know the world’s hum.
They have no cares, as they roll along in the black skies.