List of Sins

Posted in life, love, poetry, writing with tags , , , on October 12, 2018 by Shadow

It’s when I wake and try so hard
To see how I can know,
Why I should have list of sins
That always seems to grow.

Morning’s pure and gold delight
I brave to face a day,
With shadows ever beckoning
Why won’t they go away?

Up goes the sun my warming heart
I try with all my might,
My sins creep in, my misery
Then soon there comes the night.

It’s when I think and try to see
How life it seems so sly,
To lay upon my fragile hopes
An unjust hidden lie.

That when I pray and try to say
Tomorrow’s truth will hold,
Yet by the time I turn around
Another sin’s grown bold.

What can there be for my lost soul
If I can never know?
Why I should have a list of sins
That forever seems to grow.

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Master of Disguise

Posted in life, love, personal, poetry, writing with tags , , , on May 5, 2018 by Shadow

I’m holding a sword now
But I’m queasy inside
I move and I’m understanding
A love that would strike me
Do I look like a knight?
Look how my veins are bleeding

Now I see it all so clear
There’s nothing in your eyes
You taught me what to be
A master of disguise

I stand at the threshold
But I can’t take a step
The truth has me down and shaking
A peace that eludes me
Am I supposed to be brave?
My desires are so aggravating

With a simple choice of words
I’m cold adrift the skies
You taught me what to be
A master of disguise

I’m facing the destruction
Exhausted I gaze
My body is an act without me
No silver lining in the clouds
Where I am supposed to go?
Into the open I’m never free

Through the crowd I’m waking
No longer am I diseased
In control I roll the dice
You taught me what I need to be
Without a soul or heart I am

A master of disguise

In Pursuit

Posted in life, poetry, prose, Uncategorized, writing with tags , on September 17, 2014 by Shadow

In Pursuit

Running and running through the empty streets with the wind blowing in my face, the water molecules collide with my skin and gets in my eyes, and my clothes get soggy and heavy as I go.

No one is following me.

I am chasing something.

A shadow of a person who may or may not exist.

The shadow I chase is the vision of everything I had ever hoped for, everything I dreamed of doing, and the shadow gets further and further away, the more that I chase.

Don’t stop for me, shadow, don’t prove yourself weak in your will; keep from me all that I hope, all that I dream, for I wouldn’t want anyone to think you were frail and incompetent.

Un-Alone

Posted in life, personal, poetry, prose, writing with tags , on July 20, 2014 by Shadow

Them

After traumatic events led to a major disorder in my thinking, something bizarre occurred. One day I found myself face-to-face with a doorway into another world; and yet, it was a doorway into my mind. I saw beings there that looked like people, and they saw me in return. I say they looked like people because in some ways, they were more like creatures, mutated forms mocking the shape of a human.

Being seen like this was jarring; startling. Their eyes felt like my eyes, as though I were watching myself. I felt fear, a fear they could grasp. I tried to cope, but a haunting sensation tore through me, the kind that told me I wasn’t important to anyone. The feeling was crippling and I wanted to hide, but wherever I tried to move to, their eyes followed me.

I-phone Love

Posted in life, love, personal, poetry, writing with tags , , on May 11, 2014 by Shadow

I phone

Endless seas spell the eternity of depth
By which my heart beat, when I saw you —
With your face in your I-phone.

I played the delicate game
To plea my love, to tell you how I felt —
While you were glued to your I-phone.

I finally got through, what a moment;
But soon I found you yelling —
“Not now, I’m on my I-phone!”

We held hands as the sunset glimmered
On the shores of sands beneath our feet —
As you were texting on your I-phone.

And when I finally got the courage,
To bring you a ring, you mumbled something —
With your I-phone keeping your gaze.

I couldn’t help myself, feeling sad,
When the doctors had to surgically remove your I-phone —
You said, “It’s not so bad, I have two hands.”

In the hospital I brought you flowers,
Hoping you were on the mend, only to find you asking —
“I thought you were bringing my I-phone?”

Time’s Up

Posted in life, personal, poetry, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , on May 8, 2014 by Shadow

My Sins

What is that presence I feel?

I can barely make the image, my mind reeling from the exertion, from crushing the wine glass in my hand.

Crystal shards glimmer and sting, long and dripping blood streams trickling to the floor, and though I’m content with my bottled rage, I feel the presence, agitating the moment.

Who are you? Is there something I can help you with?

I had been recollecting my thoughts, gnashing my teeth, by the memories of an icy hatred, when I realized I wasn’t alone.

And as the blood dried I felt the truth working its deathlike fingers around my heart.

Had the years of my volatile shame taken form, by the sound of a midnight clock?

Could I no longer stay the shadow that bore — that amorphous emotionless shape — the weight of my infinite sins?

The Box

Posted in life, personal, poetry, prose, writing on March 28, 2014 by Shadow

box-icon

Living in a box causes the psyche to adapt in unhealthy ways. One feels the thin walls, and knows others can hear every cough. Even worse, the loneliness may cause one to soliloquize, and people listening may wonder, because they have lives. If one is lucky, they can look out the window and enjoy the breeze and the sight of the trees, but to go out spells disaster because the world is expensive, and one may not have money. One may pass the time lying down doing lots of reading, but only part of what’s been read is taken in, for the rest of the time has been occupied by thoughts of a terrible past, or a hopeless future. One may think of longings, or a lost love, and go for a walk to ease the pain of remembering, but will be so torn down by a lack of self-esteem that the ability to interact with others has been removed. One may feel frustrated knowing they could go out, only to have to come back to the box, and may spend time avoiding those of whom they know have no interest in them. The box provides shelter from the rain, but the eternity passes in a shell of gloom, and sometimes a surge of embarrassment will arise at the thought of those who know the situation. Living the life of a peasant can grow on one, and thoughts of suicide might arise, or maybe a repetition of curtain-checking will ensue. If one goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water, they may see a beautiful person through the window, and become enraptured by jealousy as the person hugs another and holds hands with them.

The box may make a person feel incapable of saying the right things because freedom is such a long ways off, even if the door is wide open; because there is nowhere to go. Maybe things are said that are taken with unintended meaning, and possible friends are lost. One could think about the box, and want to at least share a word or two with someone, and try and reach out; only to be crudely rejected for possessing the specter of loneliness. Feelings may escalate from this point, where the person retreats into the box and lives out a fantasy that they’re loved, and that a dream world is not far away. Smiles unfold on a screen and the person may feel better for a few moments, unaware of the two-dimensional nature. Maybe after the screen is turned off, a conversation takes place where a person might feel included, and maybe a voice might provide comfort. One might even hear the voice grow quiet, and learn that the voice is listening intently, with care. The voice is the one that knows of the dream, and provides the greatest possible measure to make the dream come true. When sleep comes, reality comes with, and the answers are fed deep into the subconscious. The alarm goes off, and the world of people are exposed, and no one pays attention, and so the reality of the dream comes along to help. After spending the time alone among hundreds of people, one might return to the box with the most nail-biting, fail-feeling sense of hope.

The box is where depression lies, and the mind is active in the box with every fear and non-dream like realism, where dream worlds are created to alleviate the pressure of the kings and queens of loneliness bearing down on them.