A Wordsmith’s Prison
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Mystery
I trusted myself, more than I should have
There was deceit in my mind,
burrowing in my thoughts
My hands were corrupt, covered in soil and hate
And my words, my words…
.
They were simply venomous
So sharp my own tongue bled as I spoke
Every word was painful,
Fueling the anguish in my soul
Leaving me a taste so foul, that I could not focus
On anything but rage
.
I tore at myself,
Loathing the very substance of each phrase
Finding each phrase almost unbearable
as I screamed out my life
My skin crawled with regret
Knowing I could never convey anything but lies
And knowing that I despised myself for it
.
My soul, a black void that consumed itself
Choking on each thought as it tried leaving my lips
And feverishly wanting someone to make me quiet
To hold me down,
Knock me senseless,
And help me end the lunacy of dreadful imagination
.
There was no salvation, no quiet meadow
No, for me there was only a chaotic room of voices
Crazy thoughts and half-finished sentences
A little white room with no doors
And only myself to talk to
My own cellmate in this purgatory of creativity
Cult Classics – The Princess Bride
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Honor, Loss, Love
True love,
How does the Dread Pirate know of love?
Inigo wields a sword, as a master
Vizzini tunes his wit, like a fine instrument
But you, even in the shadow of night
Hold yourself stronger than I do
and I, as know, could have killed you with a rock
Dear Fezzik,
You may not know it, but your stature is dwarfed
By the heart inside of you that cherishes your friends
You stop and hesitate, to give a man his chance
When others would take merely take another’s life
You my friend, are simply stronger in ways you cannot see
I too, am stronger in ways that cannot be seen
My lips have tasted the sweet fragrance of life
And regardless of how many times I swing a sword
I am left alone, in search of my love
My arm only reaches for more, as my life needs more
It needs to find the half that completes me, and gives me reason to breathe
No my giant friend
I do not know of love, I merely dream of it
As if I was drowning in the sea of pirates I became
When my lungs gasped for air, fighting for one more chance
And believing in someone that could be stronger than I
My friend, that love has always been the reason why
When I see her again
My body limp and frail, unable to stand
I will raise up to defend her,
To stand by her side, to hold my love near
And to realize my dreaming has led me
to hold the one person who defines true love
Into the Looking Glass – Prelude, Part II – A Model Life
Posted by Barry Hurd in Creative Writing, The Looking Glass
I couldn’t believe things had gotten so bad so quickly. Stephen had told me things would get worse, but I simply never imagined it would come to this. I told myself that it was all for the better, that this was the duty I swore to.No one, perhaps save a few, would ever understand how sane my actions were.
‘For better or worse’, those were the words people used these days. I don’t think they could comprehend exactly what they meant. I guess they really didn’t need to. Who would have thought that someone like me would end up with such an enduring relationship? Not me, that’s for sure. Before this roller coaster of events started I couldn’t even keep a relationship going for three months.
I broke away from my thoughts for a moment and I looked into the mirror at a face I barely recognized. The short hair, the petite nose, and my blue eyes surrounded in black eye-liner. Everything seemed like I was wearing a mask and my eyes were the only thing that felt familiar, the only thing in the mirror that I realized were my own. I knew that there was a huge chance I was insane, aren’t we all, but deep down I knew that I was doing everything right. It just felt like the weight of the world was resting on my shoulders.
Stupid girl. It was.
I couldn’t help but cry. I hated crying. Everything I had seen in the last few weeks was insane. It questioned everything I believed in, and it made me realize how frail everything in life was. At twenty-five I couldn’t even fathom that my world was so incomplete.
I sat looking at my image on the cover of American Vogue, thinking how incredibly beautiful ignorance was. Ninety-nine percent of the world thought I had an ideal life… and a month ago I was perfectly happy being ignorant of the puzzle pieces that had slowly crept into my life. Now that I was seeing a bigger picture my heart felt it was ripping itself out of my chest.
In a fit of frustration I threw the magazine across the room, ironically smashing the sleek art deco frame of my first modelling tour in Paris. Even back then, I always knew there was something wrong with me, there was always something in the back of my head scratching away at the perfection I was trying so hard to fake. Every year it seemed like my life became more and more imaginary, until the truth came to me and shattered everything I had hid behind. The rest of the clutter in my apartment was pretty meaningless at this point, a life of false imagery created for a girl who didn’t know who she was.
I didn’t know what to make of my life or the things that I had collected, but part of me wanted to remember everything I had gone through. I never had the perfect life; I had screwed up plenty of it, but there were people I was definitely going to miss. I gathered a few items, some letters from my mom, my dad’s locket that he gave me before he died, a photograph of my sister, and the drawings I had sketched from my dreams. I didn’t know why the drawings were important, but I’m sure they held some clue to what was happening.
As my emotions played with my sanity, I realized that I was risking too much by just reliving my past in my head and wasting valuable time. I finished rustling through drawers of personal items and I slid everything into a little backpack. By the time I was done my apartment looked like the mob had ransacked it, but at least I had one last chance to see my life before I walked away. With little more than a second thought I grabbed the backpack, threw it over my shoulder, and walked to the front door. My body stopped as my hand touched the doorknob, remembering that I forgot something. The gun.
I wasn’t used to carrying a gun. I wasn’t used to being an action star or getting into fights. I didn’t even know that I could shoot a gun. Yet I walked over to the table, picked up the pistol, and calmly slid the action back to check that there was a round in the chamber like I had done it a thousand times before. For a moment I paused, wondering how I even knew how to do it. Stephen said these things would come back to me slowly, that I shouldn’t be scared of things as they naturally fell back in place.
There were thoughts that didn’t seem like my own dancing around in my head. I walked back into the kitchen and pulled out the drawer, grabbing my old check books and all the little notes with the names and numbers of everyone I talked to. I went into my bedroom, dug to the very back of my closet and retrieved a shoebox I had never seen before. I pulled the lid off and was almost shocked to see an ornate knife resting in an ancient leather sheath.
I took it in my hand and slid the blade out, amazed to see how much craftsmanship was in the blade. It had a handle of silver that felt warm to the touch and had a series of gemstones that were clouded in grey and blue. It was Japanese, no, perhaps it was Egyptian. I wasn’t sure. Something in me told me it was both. Something told me it had been around a lot longer than either. I was confused, more that I didn’t know how it got into my closet or that I knew it was there to begin with. I didn’t like being confused.
I slid all of my newly discovered items into my backpack, glanced one more time around the place I had called home for the past two years, then locked the door behind me. As I made my way down the stairs I didn’t even think about looking back again, that life was over.
Runaway Tear
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Romantic
I tried to stand tall, yet I faltered
My spirit gave way to impatient footsteps
And my body, strong and secure
Became a ragged casualty of love
It was something in me,
Some called it a lack of faith
A belief in myself, perhaps not knowing why
Or simply questioning who I was
On one side, I remember seeing my family
A brilliant audience that often helped me choose
Some were people I cared about, a few strangers
And a select group of friends I defined as my real family
But I was alone, shaking in hesitation
Fearful that I held someone’s life in my hand
And I didn’t know if I was right or wrong
I couldn’t breathe, let alone see my own future
Happiness, deceit
Love or obsession
My world was simply defined by two words
Basic ideas that failed to save my sanity
Feeling a tear in my eye as I thought “Yes”
Breaking away from the facade that I wore
As it rolled down my face,
I said only one word, “No”
I saw the love of my life in my own two hands
Everything I had wanted in front of me
Seconds away from finding my reason for living
And yet it vanished behind my back as I ran
No one said a word, the universe was silent for them
Yet it screamed heartbreak for my soul
And my love, simply left standing alone
On the altar we had built together
True North
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Love, Spiritual
There was a moment in my life
That seemed as if the darkness was defined
By light
A second of trivial essence
When the difference of feeling good
Was completely wrong
It was a direction that was ill-defined
Marked by what everyone said was true north
On a faulty map
A series of chance occurrences
Seemingly meaningless and completely irrelevant
Yet defining my whole destiny
Every moment, each direction I turned
Took me down an unlit path of dangerous shadows
They led nowhere, except for wasteful pondering
Every trivial chance, each second
As I became feeling good was meaningless, irrelevant
Yet I was completely wrong, again. It was destiny
I could feel, but for a moment in life
My life would simply be what I had felt
No meaning, no true north
Faulty maps and destined fate
I would wander one way, then another
Completely lost within the compass I was given
And every time,
My faith would bring me back to here
Looking inside of myself
Gazing at the lost soul within
Realizing I had one choice,
And would choose to love again
Angels on the Battlefield
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Loss, Love, Spiritual
Dear god, I couldn’t believe this was my ending. The pain in my side was sharp, yet I could only feel a bliss tranquility enveloping my mind. I didn’t want to go easily. I tried to speak, attempted to call for help; but my voice was merely a whisper. The sky was frozen above me with perfect clouds touching each other like angels holding hands waiting for me to shed my doubt and join them. I wasn’t ready to go just yet.
My wife, my children… they needed me to hold on. Yet they couldn’t see how peaceful I was, having reached this point in life and found myself helpless. Their names rolled off my tongue as I slowly took my last breath to say ‘I love youâ€. The sky grew dark, I felt consumed, I was at a loss beyond anything I could have imagined. Everything faded to black.
My eyes opened again. I could hear the voice of an angel, beautiful and inspiring; she said I would be okay. I saw the bright light on the horizon fading away and I knew that I wasn’t going anywhere, that someone had either given me the strength to hold on or that I just had more to do with my life. A medic looked at me with a perplexed expression on her face and I simply said “Thank you. I don’t know who you are, but you are my angelâ€.
The Maniac Next Door
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Humor
This goes into the “Barry is a disturbed person” file. One of my friends challenged me to write about something she thought was cute and fun, and I obliged her request with a demented smile. (Mwhwhahahahaha!). It needs some work, I’m not claiming it to be perfect yet…. but it fills my ‘eViL’ qouta for now.
**************************************
Ah, the world had thought me lovable.
I was, for the most part, very likable.
Cute, huggable, and even adored by some
But I had a mean streak, a little anger problem
A hidden closet in my home that no one had visited alive
Full of sharp axes and poison that made me giggle with glee
No one knew how dark my world was
They always thought it was full of happy picnics
of floating red balloons and perfect sunny days
But the truth was far easier to hide from innocent eyes
I was a personality of passion, accustomed to taking what I deserved
And simply blaming my stupidity for the evil things I enjoyed
I could push people down in the mud
and simply say ‘oh my’
My home could be filled with little trinkets I thieved
and openly confess I merely forgot where they came from
But most importantly, I could have jars
Brilliant jars that allowed me to collect my true obsession
No one understood my need for jars, so I have a need to confess
I sat on the center of my living room, on my new plush rug of orange and black
It was soft, almost as soft as it was when it bounced from here to there
But today it made a better ornament for my eyes and a soft spot for my bum
It was definitely better as a rug, which I could hug,
Because honestly the original owner was just too smug.
I ate my lunch, as my tummy rumbled so steady.
Beside me sat a pile of honey, which never really sat well in my tummy
And on the stove, a grand dinner cooked
A roasting stew, slowly cooked with some carrots
Barely big enough to make a dinner for one
But tasty and tender, as pigs taste better when young
No one had questioned why we never saw kids in the woods
They didn’t understand, that Pooh had a grievance that was misunderstood
I had the answer, oh yes I had the answer indeed
I was simply happy, because I was maniacal and still free
My laughing and glee, as I ate my honey
was simply a distraction, from hording what I need
As the sun set below the hundred acre woods
and I began my nightly ritual of collecting the people I call food
of children who thought they were smart
One part honey to preserve, one jar per heart
and into the closet they go
where no one would ever know
Oh my mortal enemy would finally realize
Christopher Robins was not always that dumb you see
But I was the Pooh Bear,
And I was always fair,
I strangled poor Chris, and to be honest it gave me some bliss
But don’t you worry, he isn’t a boy I will miss
Burp
The End of an Angel
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Loss
There was a moment of faith
When the true belief of everything I was
Became obsolete, completely intangible
I thought to myself
When do angels fall so swiftly
That they can no longer be holy
In days past, my thoughts of sanctuary
Quickly lost themselves in false religion
My personal salvation was simply devoured
The desecration of my spirit, so swift
It began one day with a chance visit to purgatory
Due to the accidental invocation of mortal sin
My lips tried to confess true love, and failed
The feeling of my heartfelt inferno igniting hell itself
And accidentally pushed my soul into unknowing Armageddon
I had no need to fall, my wings were gone
My penance for love was retribution from life itself
And my soul would go on, half-living half-dead, in everlasting oblivion
The Climb
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Daily thoughts, Defiant, Spiritual
I went to the end of the world
Wondering if the precipice I stood upon
Could hold the weight of my life
I fathomed that others had been here before
That I was not the one who defined this point
Yet it was a sanctuary of civil defiance
That we had all climbed upon
The world was so small
No longer could one define themselves as traveler
From here we may all be seen as avatars
Icons of determination looking at ourselves
The color of the city bleaching our thoughts
Perhaps the only thing we can see clearly
Are the very clouds we all stand upon
I was not the first here
With all due respect I was not that original
Nor was I competitive enough to fight for the title
Merely a person with thoughts of being inquisitive
Needing to see this realm from a point so heavenly
Reaching out at the untouchable world and screaming
As my soul found itself flying
Into the Looking Glass – Prelude, Part I – Breaking the Illusion
Posted by Barry Hurd in Creative Writing, The Looking Glass
I know its not poetry. This is the prelude to a story I’m finally sitting down and writing. I spent about an hour on it tonight and wanted to get some feedback. It is the first story I’ve written in a long time. Any thoughts or commentary would be great.
Into the Looking Glass, Prelude****************************
It was four o’clock, five minutes into my commute home. The daily masses were driving through the endless corridors of concrete highway, trying to maintain a slim bit of sanity as they realized how moronic the person driving next to them was. I was fidgeting away, tapping my fingers to the beat of Aerosmith as I lost myself in thought and stared at the dull brake lights of the beamer in front of me.
Traffic was picking up as usual. You couldn’t expect more of an afternoon in Seattle at rush hour and to highlight my day it was the hottest day of the year. The dumb weather man on the television even said we were breaking a ten year heat wave record. That made me feel like an absolute winner. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket too, or maybe a beautiful woman will blindly stumble into me tonight and ask me to have dinner. Yeah Jacob, this is the ‘good life’. Whatever that means.
I tapped the buttons on my radio. As always, my stupid i-pod had ran out of batteries ten seconds before I really needed it, forcing me to wander through the radio stations in hope of finding something that wouldn’t make me nauseous. I swear it seems like anyone with a stupid opinion gets a chance to have a talk show these days, even the poor shock jocks can’t even come up with something to startle me. I don’t know if that makes me an average joe, or if I’m simply that warped with city life to have witness most of what they are talking about.
Five miles in twenty minutes� Here I am in a performance coupe, with 300 plus horsepower under the hood and a whopping twenty-two miles to the gallon and for over half of my drive home I can’t even manage to get the car past ten miles an hour. Just yesterday that cute intern at work was telling me I had the perfect life. If she could only see me sitting here in a sweaty suit, listening to this unbearable banter on my stereo, and pondering if I have enough time to get out of my car and smack the driver tailgating me or not. Yep, perfect life Jacob. Perfect life.
I lost ten minutes more of my life looking at some beat up old truck with a broken set of tail lights and expired tabs as it crawled around in front of me like a dying animal. Another minute would have finally pushed me over the edge of sanity, but to my luck a sleek black convertible slid up beside me, behind the wheel was a fiery redhead who was simply stunning. I looked at her for a second, wondering why I couldn’t ever meet someone like her in my boring office life and as the thought crossed my mind, she smiled at me.
I don’t know what it was, but my gut instantly felt like someone jabbed me with a knife. I locked eyes with her for what seemed like a second as she yanked her wheel and forced her car to slam against the side of my coupe. I brought my eyes back to the road just in time to see my rearview mirror and the image of some monolithic truck slamming on it’s breaks.
All I remember after that was a lot of noise. Violent crashing, metal ripping itself apart, the clanging of bells, a few brief flashes of life, a sudden nightmare of thought, and pain, lots and lots of pain.
*
I don’t remember getting out of the car. I found myself face down against a pool of dirt, blood and oil. My head felt like someone had smacked it with a baseball bat and the screaming around me felt like shrill nails being driven into my spine. I opened my eyes as I pushed myself off the pavement, shocked by the sight of the red head laying face down just feet away from me. I crawled over to her and rolled her over; she wasn’t unconscious, she was dead. I wasn’t ready to see what had happened, her pretty face was covered in blood, and she didn’t die from the car wreck. No, the large bullet hole in her cheek was far more likely to have caused her sudden departure.
My stomach turned. I had seen gun shot wounds plenty of times before, but this time the blood was everywhere. It was on me, it was on her, and the surrounding scene looked like a battlefield littered with smashed cars. A few feet from us was a pistol with a dozen spent shell casings laying on the ground.
What the hell?
For a second my sanity broke just a little bit. My head was swirling and I couldn’t even comprehend what I was looking at. I knew there were other dead bodies laying around me, there were too many cars crumpled into piles of wreckage to have been a car crash. A few were on fire and dark pillars of smoke jetted up into the sky. A piece of metal scratched my face as a car exploded just yards away from me, throwing a wave of terror at my mind as the pulse knock me to the ground again.
“Jacob” I heard a man’s voice in my head. It sounded like someone was standing right behind me.
“I’ve done all I can for you. You need to run. Get out of there. Now!” The voice sounded panicked, like a parent warning a child of an oncoming car. I laughed, probably because I was in shock, or because the warning was just a little late.
“Run. Hide. Now!” The voice shouted in my head.
I don’t know why, but I was compelled to listen.
I picked myself up and managed a desperate run to the side of the freeway just as the sirens of police cars came into ear shot. I pulled over the railing and fell ten feet to the city street below, smashing to the ground in a feat of poor acrobatics as I twisted my ankle. No one was within sight. I hobbled down the street in a dazed panic, not knowing why I suddenly felt like a hunted quarry. Eventually I found a little cubby hole to fall into, which was good because I barely kept hold of consciousness for another thirty seconds before the whole world faded to black.