Exhalation

Posted on July 28, 2013. Filed under: a look in my book, Change of Pace, justice, Mental Hurling, Prose | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , |

Thoughtlessly unappreciated and seemingly tossed randomly about by fate
Numbed to the chaos a gift can emerge from acceptance of the unthinkable
Survive and one becomes tempered
Like the finest steel however forged in misfortune and misunderstanding
Each violation, real or perceived, a misfortunate but well placed strike of the hammer
Shaping a future
Pain and torment, possible confusion, solitude and feelings of helplessness
To state time heals all wounds is a blanket lie, it takes work and insight.
Seeking wisdom or intellectual gain from loathsome events…
Is not pretty nor is it easily acquired
Patience and examination of the minutia of each nightmare endured
With sadistic resolution to admit and own every flaw,
Acceptance and forgiveness of actions or inaction
In order to reach a higher understanding
An often bittersweet realization due to the process is amazing
One can discover that in each experience
Whether it brings marvel or misery
There is something of great worth
A priceless commodity to be gained.
Some of the most tragic and agonizing events
Upon deep reflection often yield the most amazing epiphanies
New-found strength, Previously unimagined adaptability
The forgiveness of others as well as ones self, Incredible personal growth
Unexpected insight into ones own psyche
The unbridled joy of turning pain into a positive gift
The myriad of benefits in the wake of any torturous event
Are restricted only by ones fear of reliving the mental pain.
Sifting through each atrocity to find any grain of knowledge
Aiding any tiny spark that may, and generally will, help come to terms.
Promoting the reduction of future instances where any similar nightmares
Might vie to hold power over your thoughts or preset fears that might dictate negative actions
Seek and discover the positive then learn to let the negative go
It can be the beginning of a path to eventual bliss
Upon successful endurance of a catastrophic event
If and when one chooses to commit to find the good when mired in misery
 
Consider this a challenge, dare, a plea from a voice of experience
Look for the positive, it is there. It may be deeply buried
The quest at times will almost surely create degrees of duress but know this:
There is no greater reward (though painful) than to fight and survive,
Eventually come to terms with an unthinkable ordeal
Then find joy or peace, acceptance through sincere reflection in it’s wake.

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View the spew

Posted on January 11, 2013. Filed under: a look in my book, goofy crap, Mental Hurling, Prose, why the hell not | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

image

Steal what you will
I refuse it
I can not be me and
You can not
Have me
My pieces
Have never fit
You prove
Nothing
With
Gossamer
Threads
I will

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Needy

Posted on November 28, 2012. Filed under: Mental Hurling, Miscellaneous, Musings, Prose | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , |

An ancient tool, little else
passed from hand to hand.
Its origin is unknown
- workings quite the mystery
Each who wields it leaves their mark
- shapes future outcomes.
But such things lay in mystery
to random hands.
The tool, a marvel a menace,
some leave, work incomplete 
incapable of tolerating the unmistakable
and incessant noise it produces.
Those who tolerate and persevere 
are rewarded with wonder and delight.
Once set in motion this tool
- indescribable!
Yet fallible, it lays silent,
glaring signs of misuse and harm scattered
across its silent form.
Even in the most malevolent hands
it has produced surreal sights,
sublime beauty.
It has a purpose and that is its gift.
Time and distraction combined 
to cancel the mechanism
It makes no sound.
Serves no purpose.
Produces no inspiration.
It withers alone, useless.
The victim of oversight
and inertia it waits.
Its inner workings longing 
for needy hands.
Denying the passage of time
since it last heard 
the useful whine of its gears and cogs
The constant audible reassurance,
I am here
I am of use
I can astound!
Stupidly, it sits immobile
hoping for the day desperation
leads curious hands
to let it feel alive one more time
Willing in every inch of its being 
to reward that with magnificence.

escm?11tymm
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Reprieve

Posted on August 13, 2012. Filed under: Mental Hurling, Musings, Prose, why the hell not | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

Silenced.  My voice means nothing
My words are all I have, all I am left with
Once proud and possessing qualities that made me whole
Complete
I am, was, stripped of all and left with my words
They fall on deaf ears
Air passes from my lips with thought and feeling,
At times great emotion accompanying it
The sounds I make are meaningless.
Reduced now to ink and paper
Searching for those who would understand
I see Hope.  What I recall Hope to be.
The world turns a deaf ear to my one remaining sanity
Save an island of hope
A promise of things I dare not say aloud
Lest the spell be broken
I long to freely admit my desire
Damn this self imposed gag order
I want camaraderie.  I long for sympathetic ears
I need intelligent banter.  I crave reciprocation
I sit, drowning in apathetic masses –
Unaware of the horror their mundane existence represents
Therein lies no beauty, no emotion, no truth
They grind and they shun simple words
Because they represent complex notions:
Why?  How?  What if?
Do you see?
Their eyes tightly closed they shuffle through life
Refusing to stray from their blindered paths
I need joy.  I’ve learned to relish my pain
I have to stay off their path
I endure, and have done so, because I have felt what it is
To be alive
I have died many times and come back
There is no blinder to negate that
The common consensus will not “see”
They refuse to hear.  Can NOT accept my words
Deny my voice
I cease to exist, it is their comfort
I can not stay silent
Though I may be ignored what is festering in me must be expelled
I will not allow my voice to be lost
Hope – my island – Hope listens
Hope hears, Hope understands
I say this now, know your true name
Walk with me, listen and know
That in doing so, You are Hope

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too blind

Posted on June 1, 2012. Filed under: Mental Hurling, Prose | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , |

there it sits, a pathetic sight once caught by wandering eyes

design flaws rendered the line over after launch, few exist if others at all

not novel nor sought, no value assigned, stripped for scrap but left with one ability

intertia, none bother to know but avoided as if cursed,

no touch gave power to unlock the intended purpose encased in the derelict form

a secret, a test, a gift based on curiosity and drive to experience

lost things, a treasure and a dream

necessity to connect, find a mirrored path

silent and a dire reminder of suffocating solitute

to hint at it’s truth destroys its purose,

to utter objection destroys any hope

resigned to silent torment in secret

watched it sits, avoided, awash in disgust but a source

of individual solace

a chance at liberation

worth waiting

time is just time

it passes and patience is a price willingly paid

for a chance to face any reflection

such kindred emotion, patience is my bane

a price to pay, always a price

….. pain dulls over time

sit… learn… pay

endure in persuit of that moment

to have that moment

any price

pay pay perpetuate pay

kindred and waiting willing enduring…

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Necessity

Posted on May 8, 2012. Filed under: Miscellaneous, Prose | Tags: , , , , , , , , |

Calm, there’s air. Pull – Correct. Acceptable.  Now conform.

Not to convention, An asinine supposition.

Adhere to your set construct. The Concept is clear.

The mechanism, established.

Try to resist if necessary, to question sharpens the intellect.

Do so tethered to the concrete. The axis all sentience, in its time of peril defers to. A limbic compulsion. Muscle memory.

Tout. il n’y a pas un seule autre.

Universally, all return to that which allows the psyche to permit existence

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