All I Ever Wanted

Life’s a funny thing.
You think you’ve got it all planned out.
From day one you set the course, sure of the destination.
Going from point A to point B
And if you remember your geometry—the shot’s a sure straight line.
You set such a line for me.

I was more than willing to walk that straight line,
To stick to that tidy thin stretch.
And I balanced that beam with nary a sway,
Always on board, well on my way
Eager for approval, for a caring commendation only you could provide.
I walked that line only for you.

But winter is cold and cunning.
It iced over the beam and blurred the line—
I slid and fell into life, into love, into a world not of your making.
And life progressed as it so often does.
Words spoken shattered the line you’d so carefully drawn, I’d so cautiously walked.
A world scattered into pieces.

I let you down.
And that pain seizes my heart.
It wrenches and squeezes and blood falls like rain.
But the storm quickly abates.
For in walking a circle instead of a square, leaving the path in pursuit of a life,
I gain a life, as do you.

And a life is a funny thing.
It breathes and walks and hurts and loves.
It creates and abounds anew.
And in begetting my own
I break a heart, I bind a heart, I build a heart.
And I gain my greatest desire.

Facing Fear

I've never been one to readily admit that I was scared of something. Fear is not something I normally acknowledge, let alone embrace.

But at this moment...I'm scared.

I hate not knowing for sure, not knowing what to expect, having my mind bombarded by the thousands upon thousands of "what ifs" and "hows" and "whens" and "wheres." Always questioning, with no decisive answer. No sure footing. I absolutely despise that feeling. And normally I can turn that feeling off. But right now, I just can't.

On one hand, I'm very excited. But on the other hand, that logical realistic hand that always seems to shade everything in a slightly negative tint, I'm terrified. How am I going to do this? Will I get through it? Will I be good at it? What if...what if...what if....?

But something tells me that the questions will all be answered in time and come what may, I will not only get through this, but will accept it, embrace it and cherish it. Confirmation will come and steps will be taken one at a time. And those steps will not be taken alone. So in that sense, there really is nothing to fear. And in knowing that, I can face it.

I'm stepping into a brand new portion of my life. The chapter that I've been in is now coming to a close and a new one is ready to begin. Guess I better get to it.

Condescension

The question of your success comes from an effort within
And has nothing to do with me.
I make my own life—through my own work.
If your bridge is burning, look to your own hand, not mine
For there you will find the match set aflame.
The stage has been set for quite some time and my monologue is memorized.
If the lines assigned to you are not recited and therefore unheard,
The audience’s wrath belongs to you.
Go ahead.
Glare at me with hatred and whisper lies at me as the curtain closes.
It will not stop me from taking my bow before a standing ovation.
The applause will still be mine and I will relish in it and have no thought for you and your bitterness.
Bitterness—therein lays your pleasure.
There you find your joy.
For you know you fail, yet refuse responsibility.
You make it mine.
You douse me with it, fuel to feed your fire.
But know this—I walk through fire and feel no flames. I am untouched.
And you are consumed.
Reduced to ash, for you are nothing.
So take your pleasure in the hell that you’ve made.
It hurts me none.
I shall turn and look no more at the blankness of a land that was scorched for I have neither the time nor the inclination.
I shall look no more at you.

two new pieces

Unspoken

When no words can be spoken, what is there to be said?
That moment, so defiant and defining, cannot be contained within the essence of speech.
Yet in the reigning silence lies the violent weight of all that is left unspoken.
Thoughts tangle in a whirlwind of contemplation, entwined and twisted with no beginning or end.
Obscured by drifting shadows, they dance in and out of sight, swaying first to the rhythm of a whispering waltz then thrusting to the tune of a tantalizing tango.
Yet the melody is unsung and therefore it is unheard.
But how does one sing to such a melody, if it is indeed a melody and not in actuality an atrocity comprised of minorities and tones times three and harsh harmonics?
Perhaps it is better to embrace the silence despite its lack of stillness, to bury the notes and cover the composition, to leave the arrangement to its fate.
Words whispered and songs sung cannot alter the course of the tides.
Because there is no going back.
The bridge set alight by the flames of desire burns bright and once crossed is reduced to ash—a backward glance to the abandoned shore has no use for there will be no return.
But in looking forward there are questions and queries, a petitioning demand.
Yet when no words can be spoken, what is there to be said?


This

Negativity—it is always the first response.
Gut instinct grabs hold and immediately looks for that which is looming and lurking and waiting to strike.
The fear of judgment, the terror of rejection, dreading disapproval.
Are these words the right ones?
Is the fifth just a little too flat?
Will they look on with pride or will their features be etched with disdain?
She may run too far, locked in a chase that leaves her lost and alone.
The bullet may stray, ripping through him, stealing both breath and blood and leaving only flag-covered flesh.
And life begets life.
Yes, an ever present pessimistic outlook—in everything but this.
For although the plague of doubt remains—quite simply, the habits of a lifetime are slow to change—curiosity, wonder, and eagerness create a compelling cure.
A lifetime of waiting—for nothing but this?
But this is everything.
And while confusion may reign and speech may fail and dire deliberations transpire—they last but a moment.
For truly, regret has no place in this.
Fear has no place in this.
What will be will be.
The will of another will not be defeated by those that judge.
In this there is love, in this there is union, in this there is me.
And in a world forgiven, me is more important than negativity.

Stars and Stripes

Have people really forgotten? Or do they just not care?
Has society really evolved into an entity satiated by the lure of the material,
by lust and instant gratification?
They scream about speech and rant about religion and demand the retention of rights,
yet how conveniently they forget…

A finger pricked by Ross’s spike stains the stripes red—stripes shredded by shrapnel and ripped by rifles.
And when the dark backed down to the dawn of another day
the blazing sun revealed the blood-soaked snow and the horizon rang with the wails of war.
And when the sun retreated, the stars circled ‘round in the twilight
leading thousands to a destiny of death, a price paid.

Given that price, how dare they?
Flooded in a torrential downpour, limp and lifeless, forgotten by the selfish need to dodge the drops that may dampen their Dolce.
Razed to naught but dust as maniacal laughter rings through the haze of smoldering smoke, the ashes carried away by an unnoticed wind.
Covered heads line the streets as the anthem goes unheard.
Respect, like chivalry, is dead.

They say the stars shine bright in a desert sky.
And the blood of our brothers still stains stripes in the sand.
Who cares?
After all, it’s just a flag.