True Love of Coffee

I didn’t ask

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss

I didn’t ask for this, the sweet dream, or the bitter awakening.
Nothing bothered me in the figment, as everything seemed so real.

It was my life, a perfect place of agony and reflection.
Thoughts conversing and evolving, changing and evading.

This was a moment of instance, of sheer delirium.
The time when everything but me was within sight.

No it didn’t seem right, and didn’t hold my belief.
Yet it was real enough tonight, a hope so brief.

I didn’t ask, no I didn’t dream,
it was the bitter fright of living,

which left me to scream.

If the world hates, hate me

Posted by Barry Hurd in Creative Writing, Loss, Survival

I was cold, even though the warm summer wind was blowing across my neck. My hands were covered in blood and I looked at Ray for a moment as I tried to keep going. I could see desperation in his eyes, the acceptance that we had failed in our duty to save someone. I couldn’t feel my arms anymore. My hands felt like ice, the gash on my leg had lost a lot of blood over the past few hours yet I had found some strength to keep going through the motions of breathing for someone else. My chest gave me a feeling like I had broken a rib, but I knew that I was well. The pain wasn’t from my bones, it was from a conflicting spirit and a damned soul. I simply didn’t know who was being damned and who was being saved.

I remember the look in Ray’s eyes, and the look I saw in the man. I swear that there was a reflection there for a moment when I was lost. Circumstance and fate.

My Drowning Insurrection

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Defiant, Loss

Have the tides changed so rapidly,
pushing against the shores beneath calm waters
as the ebe of life draws to and fro
that one cannot dream without risk of drowning
fighting against every motion, every inaction
wondering if passion will lead to surrender
or if the serenity merely represents acceptance.

I do not care to know,
to fight against a nature so fluid.
It is not a way I care to preserve,
not a struggle that will keep me afloat.
I do not fear, nor do I surrender.
The way my life will drift, I will not control.
No one will tell me, to navigate within safe waters
for I am sailing by myself, with no route home.

The Dreaming Memory of Clouds

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Defiant, Loss, Love

Do not talk of love, not to me my dear heart.
I am not the one who lost itself, or tore down
everything I felt. Could not I choose to feel.
Do not dare, to illicit a response from me,
as I am trying to ignore you standing there,
waiting.

Do not care of me, you who stands in the rain.
Letting that cold air cleanse you,
as the freezing sentiment of solitude keeps my company.
Is this not fair? To hold myself away,
imprisoning my spirit above your defiant abandon,
as I listen to the soulful chatter of my dancing memories,
dreaming.

Tessa, a dream

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Love, Regret

Could one believe, to never reach,
Having known everything so close.
You were perfect, beyond adoration.
Yet I had to go, from restful dreams I awoke.
My soul was yours, lost figment that wasn’t real,
The moment you showed me what I couldn’t have.

Closed doors, open trails,
How could I never question leaving?
I tried to believe, to deny this world,
As my heart remembered your lesson.
You were such a wonderful teacher,
Having never known your only student.

I had gone, to a place far away,
The dreaming of a silent land,
A glimmer of desire that broke my thought.
Yet like time, you feel through my hand
So soft, so impossible to hold forever,
As I tried to demand, without reason

Do not dream like I, no do not.
For my heart was lost upon the way, so far gone.
Just rest dear one, keep your perfection,
In a moment of blissful ignorance, your innocence.
Do not hesitate to cry one heartfelt sound,
As I fall into this remembrance, the silence of my life.

The Lost Fool

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss

Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Love, Survival

I remember the day very clearly, there was a fine mist in the air and the morning dew formed droplets of water on the brim of my hat as I bowed my head. I was doing everything I could to remember a better place, trying to forget the memories that caused the tears on my face to fall into the puddle of rainwater at my feet.

I thought to myself as I asked so many questions, trying to comprehend the way the way everything except me seemed so vibrant. Even the grass seemed so beautiful and green, so lavish in texture that the voice in my head wanted to talk about anything but what I felt inside. I heard voices in the background, the soft tone of an older man trying to comfort the people around me.

I heard so many words that were simply absorbed by the grief my heart felt. The words “I’m so sorry” must have been uttered so many times that I questioned if the truth I was holding onto inside my chest was simply insanity.

I would ask myself, could love prevail? Standing amongst a crowd of compassionate strangers reminded me that I was now alone more than ever. I was the lost love, the sweet soul who gambled his heart away on trying to adore a child that would never breathe again.

My words at the time made little coherent sense. I tried to convey the way a man should care for his life, his family. Yet I cried. The fateful act of death had taught me a lesson that I never cared to learn:

That one should love, not for the expectation of love, but to feel something that can only be experienced alone as you accept how much it truly meant to you.

A Bitter Year

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive, Loss

LoL, It really isn’t a bitter year! This is just poetry for the day. I’m laughing I wrote this when I’m having such a good morning!

************************************
A Bitter Year   *************************

Crimson wine I ask, as my hands tremble,
Trying to feverishly hold to delicate thoughts,
As my body grows cold and my heart numb
I hear whispers against the chime of the church bell.
I simply realize that my faith transcends the flavour.

The spirit of the effort I think, a pale offering of such struggle.
I wonder if the taste is that of oak, or weak like flawed timber.
The kind of misunderstood growth one finds when struck with despair,
the entropy we all find when our lives begin to dissolve,
yet the reflection of my eyes is lost as my hope spills on the floor.

I try to hold onto my failing, rather than accept that I have changed.
Somewhere within life, my heart has turned black, something went wrong.
The poisoned grape that tarnished such a wonderful vintage.
Yet the bitter aroma of which I breathe seems desecrated,
a reminder that perfect things can often turn sour if uncared for

I reach for another bottle, slowly pulling it from amongst its brethren.
Fumbling my words, if not my thoughts, again and again,
as I harshly lecture myself and every action I have ever taken.
Such a fool, such an idiot you are, how naive can one person be…
Why would I ever believe that I could share such a taste with anyone?

Dying of Thirst

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Inquisitive, Loss

I tried forgetting myself
deep within the well of desire
mostly lost in discarded passion
and fruitless isolation

Yet I knew, more than I care to admit
that my lips would never again thirst,
nor accept the tender compassion that I once dreamt,
and only yearn for sweet memory as I succumb

That Day

Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems, Loss, Love

The phone rang, subtle tones pierced the dull illusion of reality I was wrapped in.
My heart stopped.
So I tried to ignore it, knowing something had gone horribly wrong.
My hand touched the receiver and I knew,
my mother was gone.
I didn’t remember lifting the handset,
or hearing the voice of my sister.
I only felt a harsh void,
the stark agony of losing someone I loved.
I cried, minutes seemed like hours that I can’t recall.

I remember almost nothing,
I couldn’t feel anything,
Except for the hole in my chest that I couldn’t fill.
As if the world was suddenly pressing me to the ground
and the only thing I perceived
was that I wasn’t strong enough
to even stand.
I don’t remember losing control,
but I found myself with my back to the wall.
My friend standing near me,
was simply lost as she looked into my eyes.

I tried for a moment to speak,
but the only voice I had could not be found.
It had been so long since I heard my mothers words,
I must have forgot the voice she had gave me.
My mind wandered into a lost heart,
Searching in this second of awareness
when I knew I had lost her,
a moment of definition I would care to never know.

I was her son, a baby she proudly adored,
Who would grow into a man she would never know
I would go home, hold my son
Touch my lips against his head,
Holding him as I cried,
whispering I love him,
And that my mom had died.

One day,
He would cry for me too
hopefully having his child to hold,
as close as I held him.
To whisper through his tears,
To validate his love,
To care,
To perhaps be comforted.
Yet today, as most days,
she is gone.
And I am simply left saying I love you mom.