The thirst, beyond today
Posted by Barry Hurd in Daily thoughts, Loss, Survival
Without a moment
of thought,
recollection,
or insight.
I found myself
breaking into my own worth
drinking of the water
that gave me life.
I had no illusion
simple desperation
dumbfounded confusion,
unknown loss.
Yet I discovered
the breath I needed,
a hope of eternity
the life of tomorrow.
Lessons of Humanity
Posted by Barry Hurd in Blog, Featured, Honor, Loss, Survival
With a moment of time,
came judgment, not of those lost
but of those who live
.
The virtue of free will,
abandoned to inaction,
of emotionless life
.
Our chance to believe
not in faith, nor of unseen things
but of ourselves
.
In the children,
basked in a history
of defiance and infamy
.
The name of atrocity
becoming notorious words
of our limitless resolve
.
This bane, no this malevolent crisis
which some care not, will not,
remember and learn
.
As we know,
as we always hold dear
sweet memory, never forgetting
.
In this time, the vein hope
to care of ourselves
and of others
.
To find that moment of definition
when we, never alone, always together,
become the decisions of who we are
.
Finding ourselves to be better,
knowing care, hope, peace, acceptance, forgiveness,
Provide us to lead our world to something better.
Beyond the Horizon
Posted by Barry Hurd in Defiant, Survival
Beyond the horizon
is a world that cannot be seen.
This is where poets and dreamers live.
It is a land of possibility and hope,
of fantastic things,
of desire.
Beyond the horizon
is a world that begs to be discovered.
This is where travelers and explorers go.
It is a land of intrigue and impossibilities,
of dangerous journeys,
of adventure.
Beyond the horizon
is a world that I find myself lost.
This is where my thoughts find a home.
It is a land of beauty and perfection,
of creative wanderlust,
of individuality.
Wounds of War, a declaration of being unfit.
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival
This was written for a friend, who shall remain nameless.
In a private conversation, I declared that I was unfit for duty.
I told my friend that I could no longer wear a badge of honor.
Somehow, I found that the shadow of bravery crept over my soul,
and fell upon the silent ears of those who were defined valiant, or criminal.
I was not a hero. I was not even someone who cast forth a reflection worth seeing.
The way I found myself, was a haunting memory of distant declarations,
Words that could never be understood by someone as simple as myself.
Yet the wound I felt, brutalized my soul more than any harm could.
I saw myself as having fallen, upon the fine, sharp sword of victory.
My chest was covered with fine treasures of respectful ignorance,
yet my hands and body were as unclean as I have ever felt.
I do not know how to cleanse life of such indiscriminate stains.
I return home, to a family who loves, friends who adore, and none of them understand.
I am not the person they love, no, I am the person they fear in distant nights.
The hand of god holding the life of innocence, of illicit personal ending.
My choice, to disbelieve, that my hands act with ignorant cruelty.
I sit with those I love and wonder, how many brethren no longer sit at a table I emptied?
That as I, a human soul, cared for disregard so deeply that I acted,
again and again, I acted. To take away that which was not mine.
I was the fool played as both pawn and king, to which I gave away control.
I am asking for redemption, begging for a sweet mercy I never gave,
trying to forget the moments of unsettled fear as I closed my eyes,
and forced myself to hear screams that will never go away.
Simply, I am not fit for duty.
The decision of compassion
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Friendship, Survival
The inescapable loss of compassion is impossible to dismiss. Sometimes you casually find a stranger at a loss beyond words. Sometimes those words are so evasive even you cannot hear them. Sometimes they come from someone you care about, and the futile nature of being human holds you in a moment where nothing feels more than the second you are in.
Great literature says it best shortly, with quotes like “He dies.” Yet I do not read those words today. I have chosen to experience the rapture for what “it is”, rather than what it could be described “to be.” Such simple, unfettered, and agnostic words become everything I could try to say “It is, to be.”
The words do not make anymore sense to the home of a heart consumed in dismay. Whether it is the child I speak of, while crying in my heart as they rain tears upon a face that should not know such sadness, or if it is the sound of someone lost in thoughts running rampant across a tide of unbalanced emotion- all I can brutally say, in an attempt to have my humanity restored, quietly, “it is, to be.”
Someone will understand these words like I do. They may fall upon a thousand eyes that are gazing away from the harm our humanity brings us, but the gentle souls, the kindred spirits finding themselves giving hearth to the homeless, will surely know, that our faith will one day change this words to “It is, to decide.”
The question of questions,
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival
Doubt, my dim companion.
Why does my soul seem ill-content,
with a fraction of life
the sacrificial grace of torment.
The whole of me, lasting, longing,
that I breathe so deeply,
and it inspires greed, for more,
the very thing I cannot be.
Cannot my spirit be worth,
trivial compassion,
or do I find my value, dripping,
in a vein surrender I never succumb.
Had I, tried as one might,
have the sight to believe,
just on more time, in me,
as I reach for what I need.
Insanity
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival
Insanity
1. not sane; not of sound mind; mentally deranged.
2. of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a person who is mentally deranged: insane actions; an insane asylum.
3. utterly senseless: an insane plan.
Oddly enough, scratching on my mind,
I hear rodents and thoughts of curious crime.
No I will not answer the door, oh no,
for I ask not more as I tune into my favorite show.
Eyes locked upon dancing dots of black and white,
as I am shocked into moments that seem more right.
Dear doctor, I smile at my friend you cannot see,
oh why can’t I scream while I breathe?
Yet if I use words, should you understand,
I am not an aberrant person of this torturous time.
Divergent of thought, eccentric of mind,
I am simply insane, trying my best to rhyme.
Restless Hours
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival
When I fell asleep, I swear my eyes opened for the first time in my life.
I could feel what the day entailed, every breath seemed like a moment of delight.
When my slumber embraced me, I felt warm and comforted like I never had.
In a dream of things that I always wanted, yet never afforded in my heart’s desire.
Why would I hope that this veil be lifted, could I possibly dream if I woke?
If I cared for reality, as much as this figment, I would have perfection in my hands.
**************************
I have often wondered about love. Perhaps that is the fault of a hopeless romantic. I think that poets are best born to wondering about the exact destiny of a feeling. It inspires them, it pushes them to reach, it creates want.
To me, love is an absolute feeling. It is the answer to a simple question.
“Would you do anything?”
The answer, if with love, “without a doubt”
I find myself wondering about that answer. If I can relate to someone who is not myself what doubt is and is not. When I see someone, sometimes for the first time, and I know within a fraction of a second that I would take the extraordinary step to do anything.
Does that make one a fool? I wouldn’t think so. I hope that I am not a fool. yet if I am, I take no worry in it. I would rather be a fool than someone without life in my body.
Second topic of the night- in the past week I have had over a half dozen individuals describe me with the word “genius”. I do not like that word. It makes me feel different. It makes me feel as if I am better, and while I may have thoughts which make me unique, I am not better. I am only human.
I wish humility and wisdom were better friends of each other. I wish that the people that describe me as being a genius saw motivation and inspiration within that word. I wish that they looked at my action and realize the potential of how amazing they could be as well.
We are all unique creatures with wonderful gifts.
The Mercenary’s Dream
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival
I always have this hymn in my head, for reasons I don’t know why. I wrote it years ago and find myself singing it. Only a few hundred variations or so. I wonder about the statements often and the wording, perhaps thinking whether or not the light is me or someone else, the love of a thought or of a passion.
The reason I write my thoughts into my various professional and personal words is to express how I was feeling in regards to a place and time in my life. Many people do not do this, rather they capture themselves in wondrous cages of demeanor and personal perception.
If you understand any of the above statement, you are actually far luckier than most people wandering around the world today. Too many people find themselves locked in a place they chose to be and fail to realize that there is no prison strong enough to hold them.
For lack of a better description- we are all born free.
In my darkest hour
In my fiercest fight
I fall to be devoured
yet hold onto your light
I dream of no tomorrow
of honor and all it’s sorrow
In my fiercest fight
I hold onto your light
It was my darkest hour
Falling to be devoured
I only dream of all the sorrow
the honor of tomorrow
Yet I still can’t see
who I came to be
Until I find who is me
and I still know I’m free
in my fiercest fight
tomorrow defines the light
In Front of a Crowd
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival
So many people believe in me,
The things I see, what could be.
Should I just claim, “here I am?â€
As I silently walk onto the stage
Uncovering myself, preparing to expose my fear.
I would rather, as my throat catches my voice,
Try to keep the beautiful butterflies down,
And hope, for one moment, that I am applauded.
There are not many reasons for which, I understand.
Not many reasons at all.
Yet I find myself hearing appreciation, gratitude.
On a pedestal of public isolation,
I am welcomed by strangers, thanked by friends,
As my legs tremble along with my words from my lips,
and my life is thrown out like random confetti.
I say something of which I cannot remember,
As the crowd erupts into a flurry of commotion,
My spirit panics, my breathing pauses,
And I feel myself losing hold of evasive sanity,
The panic holds me tight, as I feel my skin try to crawl away.
I pause, but not with planning,
the type of hesitation you find with fearing,
and I look out into a sea of faces rippling with expectation.
I cannot weather the tide of such unknown envy,
And I dare not leave this post before I am truly done.
If only I could remember,
The fact of why I am here.
Perhaps the truth of knowing my purpose,
Could elude to the reason I share myself,
And help me understand who I am.