Monday, January 30, 2012


No joy inside of your heart, so dull,Your mind will soon decay with all
This rottenness, this butchery; decay
Will set inside your heart so very soon
That you'll loose all sight of this life; this gloom
That you hold onto does not become your face,
It rather blemishes, dull, makes one face
You with second thoughts, then turn away as soon
As they had seen you. For they know with true
Understanding that it's not well to dwell
Upon that which has no future, or past.

Then let them turn away, I will not ask
That they should stay, nor that they care for me;
Only that they leave me in peace, away!

Why do you settle for less than you could
Have? Are you so put off by those around
You that you have forsaken company,
Given up thoughts of friendship, and withal
The behavior of a badger, dug a
Hole underground so as to hide yourself
Away from the light? Have you so little
Faith as this?

In truth, I do reply that
I, having no man or woman, no child
To look upon and give me hope do hide
Myself; so much so that I'm unwilling
To make myself known to another soul.
My heart's ill at ease, I've no content known,
Like a voluminous book I've held all
That is within, and so am consumed by
It's desperate power. No faith have I.

But what is this that make you so ill; why?

No one with whom to hold myself up to.
No man with whom to reach out, seek status.
No Woman with whom to comfort my soul,
Nor am I fit for woman that she should
By my soul be comforted. Such am I.

My friend is this all that troubles thee?

But more. For I've no enthusiasm.
In this world, this dying world, one of doom,
I'm condemned to live. Like a prisoner,
One destined for the gallows, or gallies,
The dreaded plank, or the horrid stank of
Prison. Such is my feeling for how life
Has become. An abode of sorrow guilt.

One may as well lie on a bed of silt
For the way that you talk, it makes me tilt;
To think that you have no faith, no hope, none!
Such a thought were to much for me; Such thoughts
Were best thrown out, given away, paltry
Dishes are best uneaten; when rats sniff
At such gifts as you've described they flee from
Their poisonous wrath.

What choice have I though?

All the choice in the world, but take my hand
And we shall with speed mend your mind.

So, so.

You object to such healing?

No feeling
So intense could occasion me with hope,
For I've felt them all. Angers wrath, which was
To my dismay, quite the ticking time bomb.
Depressions sorrow; such festering dark
That you'd be grateful to see as a rat,
If only to understand that this is
Your lot, to be grateful of it. Then there
Is Love's sting, such passion ensues from it's
Power that it sweeps you off the ground. Then,
As a Hurricane that's ebbed, you fall down,
Lose your footing, dash your head on the rocks;
Of all feelings it is most bittersweet.
Then there is arrogance, such pomp, the bells
Do sing your name for a time, you believe
That all the world is at your feet, a stage,
Where you are the chief actor, and they are
But peasants to wait upon you. Ignorant
Fools are they, and pay the price as soon as
They have been disillusioned of their deeds.
Then there's Pride, that were the most heinous crime,
For it's why we suffer to begin with;
He who's caught up in this feeling will no
Longer walk in the light for it's to bright
For him, and he'll make some excuse to walk
In darkness and so remain convinced of
His superiority. Never to
Be seen again by any living man.
To tell them all would be to speak my death,
Do not make me sound the knell for each one,
I've grown faint merely thinking of these few. Now,
What have you to say to me? To heal?

You're voice suggests it were impossible.

Now you've caught on.

Such are the damned.

So, so.

Are you so, so?

I cannot tell.

Why not?

Because I feel nothing, have renounced all
In the hopes of escaping dreaded pain.

So this is your plan, your foolish game?


How came you to conclude that hope, this hope,
Which were better suited to other tasks,
Was the means of overcoming pain?

I know not.

Then how do you know?

It works.

You feel nothing. Is that not pain?

A sort.

Sorting your feelings into rooms, as though into separate containment, as though isolating one room from another on a sinking ship, you have foolishly divided yourself from yourself! Fool! Have you no thought to what will occur when the ship is lost entirely? have you no thought as to what will occur when you've run out of rooms to contain? Is there no wisdom in you?...

To Be continued.....

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