What Have You Lost?

It’s not the same anymore with a broken heart;
I walk and talk with you, and it tears me apart!
Yes there are smiles all the while but so vacant
And I just want to cry because I do know
That day we really did say our ‘goodbye;’
It was an ending without any new beginning
But you made your choice with definite voice
And now you’re left alone to just pretend,
Yet fail to apprehend what you have done;
But perhaps I’m wrong and you’re really strong
And at peace with a new lease on living this life;
Ahh! But then you seem to have cut yourself off
From anyone who ever genuinely cared for you!
O what’ve you lost for the sake of that albatross!
But who am I to say?
. . .
It’s not the same anymore with a broken heart;
I walk and talk with you, and it tears me apart!


Cry for Me Crying for You

Ah! My love! Cry for me crying for you
So emotionally bruised and confused;
You have been used and misused now
For so long you think it’s where you belong,
But how wrong you are! O sing a new song!
Take my tears and wash your face
And embrace a brand new reality
In finality of chasing what is base!
Ah! My dear! You pull tears from my eyes
As I spy him round every corner, lurking,
Knowing he’s bound to hurt you yet again
But you can’t see the sin ‘n you never win!
Oh my God, my God! You call his hate love
And I cry above to every angel who’ll hear
To steer you away from this dark delusion
And I know they care but can they repair?
Can they repair the damage already done
Under sun, moon and stars so far away?
No! No! You pop his pill
And then lay so very still
To bask in sleepy fantasy
To mask a very real pain!
What do you gain, then, save stain of guilt
And remorse ‘cause you took that course?
O can you not see and finally be free?
Or do you rather enjoy your chains?
Are you so insane that
You’ve slain your heart?
Ah! My love! Cry for me crying for you
So emotionally bruised and confused!
Cry for me crying for you to be so true,
So true to yourself to finally be free . . .
Ah! My love! Cry for me crying for you

Note: It must have been a better month for me than I knew at the time. Here is another poem previously published in November 2016, being republished now due to some renewed interest as well as for the enjoyment of new reader-followers. (And I’m very thankful to say that quite a few folks have decided to follow this blog just over the last few weeks! Thank you!)

When They Just Do Not Understand

Don’t blame or try to shame when they just don’t understand;
Yes, there are hands that will help and hands that will hurt,
And you’ve gotta be careful to guard your heart
Or they’ll tear it in parts and think they’re smart;
They don’t know what it is to be sick inside ‘cause it doesn’t
Really show all that much on the outside, so they push it aside
As if it’s really nothing, but they don’t know;
They don’t know about crying uncontrollably
While trying to get ready for the day some way;
They don’t know what it’s like when the mind just shuts down,
No, they frown and tell you to pick yourself up by the bootstraps
Even when you don’t have any bootstraps and you’re trapped;
They’ll tell you to ‘get on the ball’ even when the ball is lead
And it’s fallen on your head and put you to bed entirely unfed;
Yeah, they know a lot and maybe you thought they’d understand
But they’ve never sought understanding because they’ve had
An easy commanding of life without much demanding of them;
So they cannot understand the ghosts that haunt your psyche,
And taunt you by night like a blight that simply won’t go away;
No, they do not know so they show no compassion
As they look at your ashen face from such low base;
But you can’t blame them; this is no game, so you just move on;
Move on beyond the dull-witted and ignorant and callous . . .
Move on to the Lover who will cover you with love and dignity!

Addiction to Poisoned Person

Prediction of addiction is total destruction
Abdication of the soul with no reconstruction
Abandon all of the demands of true reality
Senility of the mind in the bind of death trap
Leave what is behind for your kind of hell
Hear bells toll as fire lights your funeral pyre
Will you ask if he was worth the birth of pain
And what do you gain from being so insane
Straight lane to perdition in your condition
Contrition gone in submission to your position
Admonition unheeded in sedition of the soul
Petition the mortician for removal of remains
Your end has come, no more bends in the road
Bid farewell to the last chance given to dance
Liberty is now but memory by your treachery

Just Around the Bend

What a strange place to be, so estranged from reality,
Medicated beyond lucidity into the realm of absurdity,
Where what exists is rearranged in an ailing exchange
Of truth for fantasy in the horrid travesty of the vanity
Of doctors trying to cure what had been plainly pure;
But, then, it was the trick of your feigning to be sick,
And now comes the kick of being forever the addict;
What about now, though? Does clear truth still glow
Below the surface of your nerve-wracked existence
In persistent insistence that this is not genuine living
But only false pretense in defense of silly escapism?
What a strange place to be, truly, in deranged reality
That is not reality at all but a fall into a bad nightmare,
But you don’t know that yet, do you? Still, it is so true!
Pills may blind you to bills and gain relief from pain,
But life still goes on to the end . . . just around the bend,
Just around the bend!

Addictions and the Lesson of the Cavuscenæ

They were about half-way to the Brook Laden and time was of the essence. Abhay, Delvon and Cahira would soon begin the journey of a lifetime, but when wise, old Akilah spotted the beautiful insect he decided it would provide yet another invaluable lesson for the three young warriors.

“Ah, look! I think….” he started as he stepped off the pathway and began fishing around the tall grass and shrubbery with his Matrinemus staff. “Yes! Ha, ha! They’ve come again! How amazing and, yet how unfortunate. Still, good for good instruction!”

The old man, kneeling down on one knee, reached out and very carefully scooped a tiny, exquisitely beautiful insect into the palm of his hand. Abhay, Delvon and Cahira each knelt down beside their beloved teacher, and gazed at the marvel of four luminous little legs as yellow as the sun, two azure blue eyes, and alternating bright pink and lavender wings. For the next few moments silence seemed the only appropriate response to such curious beauty.

“The cavuscenæ,” Akilah finally broke the quiet. “They come round but once every generation, if even that often.”

“Ah! And to think we’d see something so rare and so beautiful just when you were telling us about something dark and ominous,” Cahira wondered aloud. “This must be a good omen, if ever there was one!” Abhay and Delvon nodded in agreement.

“Oh, but there is where you are so wrong, my precious Cahira! Oh so wrong, and this is precisely the lesson all of you need to learn. But first, here, smell the aroma of this cavuscena. It’s mildly sweet, like the flowers your mother loves so much, Abhay. One might even say comforting.”

The three bent forward, breathed the scent and then widened their eyes. “You’re right,” they all chimed at the same time. “Yes, so it is beauty with sweet, comforting aroma,” the Dabir said and then, lowering his voice, “Quite alluring … enchanting. But remember the proverb which teaches, ‘Beauty is deeper than skin; happiness more than a full belly.’”

Then in one horrifying, split second Akilah squashed the bug with his thumb and forefinger. “And the cavuscena, for all her alluring, outward beauty and sweet-smelling scent is nothing more than a poisonous killer. And as the cavuscenæ now come again in greater and greater numbers, they come only to steal and destroy.”

“But even that is not what is so vile and evil,” the Dabir went on. “There are many creatures, great and small, that eat flowers, consume our crops, feed on each other and would even kill and feed on us. No, the cavuscena actually consumes and destroys by being consumed and destroyed!”

“What! What do you mean?” Cahira asked, still shocked. “How could something so beautiful be so deadly? And how could it destroy by being destroyed? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“And how come we’ve never heard any of this?” Delvon added.

“Because people are quick to forget,” Akilah replied. “Or if they don’t forget, they’re quick to stop caring, and that’s easy when this particular danger only comes once in every generation, if even that often. And so, of course, when people stop thinking about it and caring so much, they stop talking about it. Most live only for today, from hand to mouth.”

“But now I’ll tell you something you’ll do well to remember. You know how much we value the ardda-sprit? How this beetle-companion helps protect our gardens from all kinds of plight and disease, worms and other small creatures that would kill our crops? How this dull brown garden-keeper lives by helping keep us alive?”

All three nodded without speaking.

“Well, the ardda-sprit is particularly attracted to the cavuscena – some say because the ardda-sprit is so dull and the cavuscena so brightly colored, and he is jealous – and the sweet aroma fiercely stirs his appetite. So, of course, the much larger and stronger ardda-sprit attacks and feeds on the cavuscena.

“And once tasting the sweet and delicate cavuscena, the ardda-sprit wants nothing else. And herein lies his destruction. You see, the cavuscena offers nothing of substance, nothing good, nothing wholesome. In fact, there is something very bad in the cavuscena, a kind of poison.

“But the more the ardda-sprit eats the cavuscena, the less he eats what is good, and the less he works in our gardens. Finally, he has an appetite only for the cavuscena and that is all he will eat, but the more he eats the more his hunger grows. And he thins and weakens, but still he consumes only the cavuscena, till finally he eats himself to death, but in so doing, curiously enough, he actually dies of starvation.”

“Imagine that! Eating yourself to death, but dying of starvation! And all of that – that wholly detestable tragedy – lies under the cover of exquisite beauty, surrounded by sweet-smelling aroma. Indeed beauty, genuine beauty, is deeper than skin; happiness more than a full belly. You three will do well, very well, to remember this, the lesson of the cavuscenæ, as you journey on …”

 … And with that, off they went, down the same southwesterly path.

Note: The above is from  The Fawr Choedwig Chronicles,  a work-in-progress for my children. Also, the lesson in the story is certainly not limited to eating … In fact, that is not primarily what I had in mind. Many addictions lie “under the cover of exquisite beauty” and obviously prove alluring, enticing but end (ultimately) in destruction and death.