Chasing Sunshine

Put it away for long enough

While you go about your day,

And you’ll forget you ever held it,

That it ever had a sway

Over you,

Your joys, or your blues.

That is precisely

Why you must choose,

What to put aside –

Whether doing the laundry,

Hoeing, cleaning, or cooking,

Cycling, typing, idling or bookkeeping;

Ultimately,

The things you send,

To the far end

Of your waking day,

And sometimes beyond,

Can bring you moments of joy,

Comfort, grief or respite,

The trick lies

As always,

In making the right choice.

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I thought I could reconcile

With things that happen

In the realm of unpleasant

Both in the past, and the present,

If I could ascertain

The truth behind events;

And so I commenced

A journey

To discover veracity,

And what I have found

Along the way,

Is that relativity

Not just in science abounds

But also, in something

As fundamental

As the truths we espouse;

The truth in which I believe,

May be quite contrary

To someone else’s,

And no matter how convinced

We each are,

Our worlds will collide

Forever and after,

Because of the divide

Between our truths.

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The remnants of a heavy shower

Lie scattered on the roads,

An assortment of twigs,

Droves of soggy leaves,

In summary,

All manner of litter - 

And in its midst,

A soaking wet boat, made of paper,

Coming almost undone,

Yet intact enough,

To let it be known

That it once was, a cherished boat;

Perchance set asail

With wishes on its tail

To guide it along,

But wishes, we know,

Can’t control the flow

Of the gushing waters

On the road,

Nor indeed, of the rush of emotions,

That hold

A helpless heart captive.

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You’re marked for a hunt

And hunted down,

Each time you’re maimed

A little more

Than the time before;

You compensate though,

In ways that only your body knows,

But your hunters can see

For the limp, it shows.

And finally,

You are struck down,

Except, it’s not a fatal arrow

But it’s just enough,

To bring you down

On your knees,

In a mire, so deep

All you can do, is sink in,

‘Cept, you don’t want to wallow;

But there’s no one,

To help you

Get back on your feet,

So you fall back in,

Mud on your face,

Rinse and repeat,

Again and again,

Till it’s part of your being

Long after you’re out.

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When words are not enough

To tell a tale,

When they fail

To convey,

Just how tough

The going has been,

The story teller

Falls silent;

Her lips sealed,

Her quill

Lies still

On the tabletop,

And the candle

Is snuffed out,

While she lies there

In the darkness,

Her breath shallow,

Her heart thudding its way out

Of the wallow

That it slid into,

When the words disappeared

To be replaced by tears.

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Some days you want to dance

To the music on the radio,

(Well not quite, isn’t it the phone now?)

You find yourself humming along

And then you realize,

That something’s different –

You think,

“This must be

What happy

Feels like”.

You are pleasantly surprised,

You turn it around slowly

In your heart,

Gently,

As if it were

An ephemeral

Soap bubble –

This joyous moment.

And sure enough,

It bursts,

Taking with it

The music,

And the beat;

You are left instead

With the dry harshness

Of the words that killed it.

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You go through life

Seeing the symbols

Strewn around,

Some carelessly,

Some thoughtfully –

From the morning dew,

To the fallen tree;

From every empty pew

To each fear powered melee;

Every symbol stands for something,

Each one, is a reckoning

Of how mankind

Has travelled through history

And etched its presence

In the annals of time;

Sometimes, in ways

That are not entirely pleasing,

Or indeed, harmonious,

With the rest of creation –

And it is then that you pause,

To reflect, and to think,

To consider whether you,

When leaving

This world behind,

Would leave something worthwhile

A symbol of hope,

To hold on to,

In the cesspool of decline.

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It has been too long

Since you came,

And occasionally,

It makes me wonder,

If you remember

What it feels like,

To call my name,

Your voice barely a whisper,

Across the moonbeam

That bears my dream,

Or watch me

As I sleep,

Often fitfully,

But no longer consumed

By your memories.

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Cold winds blowing in through an open window,
Newspapers strewn across the floor,
A coffee mug from a couple of days ago,
Loud music rushing in from the neighbour’s next door;
She surveys the scene with detachment,
Never once dwelling upon the chaos apparent,
‘Cause turmoil of another kind brews up a storm maelvolent
As her heart seethes in agony of a kind that only she knows…

P.S. Feeling a little lazy today, so I decided to reuse something I wrote in May 2010.

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How do you
Forget the pain,
And the unending shame
Of standing all alone?
One in a big crowd,
Nevertheless,
Singled out;
Nobody to reach out to,
Nobody to help you through,
When all around you
Is a sea of hate;
How do you forget?
And what even
Are you meant to reject
From that gory past?
When all along,
Right through till now,
That has been
Your life’s song –
Alone
An ode, to a lone soul
Relegated
To a bottomless hole.

Disclaimer: The title of this verse has been chosen to reflect the meaning of that phrase, which is “Lone Soul”; neither the title, nor the verse itself refer to the votive image in Catholicism.

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