3.17.2014

“In battle, if even one life is lost, there can be no victory. In battle, there is only defeat."

They Tell Us

They tell us to know our limitations in order to stretch beyond them, because only then can we succeed.

But it is also the only way we can fail.

We stretch beyond what we can accomplish, and tear and crack into pieces. This process, whether it ends in triumph or defeat, is always painful beyond our previous imaginations. Still, we tell ourselves that this is a necessary pain. Is that really true?

Is the sum of our lives the height of pain that we reach, the pinnacle that we are able to achieve before shouting out ‘No more!’? I’d like to believe that there is more, that human beings are meant to suffer and endure for only so much a portion of their lives.

I want to believe that eventually there is peace to be found, if one is lucky. And if not peace, then at least some form of contentment.

Yes, that must be a worthy goal for one’s life: simple contentment.

3.6.2014

“Extend a hand to me. Not to hurt, but to help. Extend it in greeting, and not to strike a blow. Because in a moment you see me and care, not because you feel pity and believe you are better. Something deep inside of you calls out in recognition and you gladly surrender to the sensation. You do not resent this feeling because it causes obligations. You do not reach to lessen a guilty conscience. No, reach out to me because you want to learn the depths of my soul, one laugh at a time.”

For Me

Every day
I feel the aching distance between us
Every day
You push me away but tell me you love me
Every day
You feed the growing space around me
Every day

Long ago

You took my hand and whispered a future
Long ago
Time was meaningless with you near me
Long ago
No fears were present, our future was clear
Long ago

Never again

Sunrise kisses and nights spent so slowly
Never again
Curled up on cold nights, hearts beating gently
Never again
A breath of warm laughter from those soft lips
Never again

Say you miss me

That I was all you ever thought worth keeping
Say you miss me
The years spent apart killing you, oh so gently
Say you miss me
That any other’s touch leaves you numb inside
Say you miss me

Tell me you love me

Tickle my ear and scream it in defeat
Tell me you love me
While holding my hands and down on your knees
Tell me you love me
Like every time’s the first spoken, the most important
Tell me you love me

Let me go

So maybe one day my breath won’t cut so deeply
Let me go
And making breakfast for one won’t taste like defeat
Let me go
To some distant lover whose life I can complete
Let me go

Ready Steady Go

This is the price of maturity.

You know the limitations of your dream

You know its height and width and depth
Its edges and centre and the light it emits.

You know the rhythm of its beating heart

You know every shift and shadow of its form
Its weight in your hands as you hold it close.

You know that eventually you’ll let it go

You know how easy it’ll shatter at your feet
Its loss instantly regretted and forever mourned.

Because this is the price of growing wise.

Revelation

This is the end
And it isn’t romance
With love and sweet kisses

This is the end

No thunder and lightning
The storm passed on by

This is the end

Shattered dreams are nothing
They don’t hurt one bit

This is the end
Fire and brimstone
And floods are sheer fancy

This is the end
Wisdom comes swiftly
To last for a lifetime

This is the end

Saluting Don Quixote

That feeling is always waiting just under the skin and can’t be let out, omnipresent beneath layers of dermis. The one that says, ‘Time’s wasting away. Get out, get out now. Quick, before it’s too late!’ It’s a scream caught forever just in the throat, unable to travel the small yet insurmountable distance to the tongue.

And anyplace would do, really. Any small place, as long as it was yours. Freedom is the right to choose, but also the right to settle for whatever you want, for something more or less than present circumstances. To make those decisions that you know are mistakes before they’re even begun, and to still regret them later.

Dreams take the form of faces and places long past, confusing and meshing events together because at least that’s when you weren’t stagnating, when you were doing something, even if it was something hated and detested and scorned. It’s not that the youth don’t realize they’re young; it’s that they fail to understand that growing up is a process, and not just sitting in the same place, never moving forward. By its very definition, growing up means dealing with changes, even those that are so painful they bleed open wounds for the rest of your life.

Far better to bleed dry than to wither away, slowly rotting like an abandoned piece of attic refuse.