The Finale

You played me

            Like a fiddle.

Like a spider plays a drum … or its last meal.

You took an optimism as yet unmatched

            And gave it cause to doubt.

The remnants of happiness,

            No longer found in the scrap bin,

                        Have been thrown out with the trash.

You’ve placed me, far from the smilies of my past,

            Into a daily desire to simply post, “FML.”

Normalcy has left the building,

            Triggers past elicit no outbreak of expression on this face.

Smiles are fleeting, and infrequent.

            Mainly due to the absence of trust or hope,

But, also because of the slipping familiarity.

           

You’ve taken the assurances of my past and laid them bare;

My days are empty.

My nights feel numbered,

            And dreams elude my memory when I wake.

And what to do now that all hope is lost?

            Feel nothing.  Be no one.  Reside nowhere.

Your platitudes belie themselves, your attempts fail, and you stagger.

            What would you have me do for you?

Are you now on the same path you created for me?

But, TRUTH …

            My future was always so marred

                        You are not the first,

                                    Though I sincerely hope, the last …

To torture my existence, yet again, with your games.

            Games that are selfish, and hurtful,

                        Contests already cheated and corruptly won …

                                    Games have no place in the atmosphere of ONE.

The One of Salvation, Christians may call Him thus,

            One God to save all of us.

The One of Nature, when male And female meet;

            She is much more harsh and Her challenges not so sweet.

The One of Love – if such exists …

The one duality we all pretend at, but miss …

If all the world is a stage,

            And we merely play in the acts

At what point do the backdrops matter,

            Or the painstakingly designed costumes and set?

I cannot live in a world so colored

            That people are merely 2D characters with scripts prewritten.

The Death of Perpetual Optimism

You realize that you are at your lowest point

     When there is no need to consult anyone for advice or comfort

Because either no one can or will help you.

You figure out that empathy does you no good, 

      If people allow you to fall flat on your face

AND

      Expressed regret is useless as well,

If people will continue to make the same mistakes.

Truth belies Platitudes.

Nine Dark Stanzas

I am that dark, slowly moving mass that follows you in the sky,
     Guaranteed to cover your celebrations as I pass by ...

With me, I carry bucketfuls of pain and tears,
     Sure to douse your hopes and flood your mind with fears.

As I pass, the lightning crashes into your happiest of places;
     It falls primarily on the unTrue, but illuminates all dark spaces.

This dark cloud, does it have purpose beyond devastation?
     Are there really aspects wherein so many place admiration?

Who wants the ominous intruder that makes most shudder?
     What friends or lovers find any solace under its cover?

And then, a realization creeps along, just as the dark cloud wanders in ...
     The shadows offer comfort on hot days - when the bright Sun is mercilessly shining.

For as wet with sorrow as those tears may be,
     They are necessary for all the life that we are privileged to see.

And as scary as the lightning that illuminates our devious deeds,
     Without it, we would never know of the greatness that could be.

So, dark clouds, even as the Sun, have their place:
     In Truth, rather than Wonder ... that is the mark of their eternal grace.