Afraid of the Dark

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Daily thoughts, Survival

When I was a kid, I was afraid of the dark. You wonder as an adult, if there are monsters you imagine in life, or if life is simply something that details the playing shadows of night. Sometimes we grow over them, sometimes we don’t. As life went on, I knew the things worth being scared of were the things you could see. My imagination couldn’t hold a flame to the horrors of society or the reality of the world.

Afraid of the Dark.

I tried to remember how beautiful things were,
before the gray rain filled the sky,
bringing such a subtle feeling across my face.
as there was no dream left in slumber,
just breathing it’s life into my own,
keeping me adrift in a land of chaotic taste.
I saw, feeling as blindly as only I could,
as my thoughts hoped and beheld,
before a moment when my eyes fell open,
and my hands, without strength, failed me.
I fought, not as if I had purpose, but faith,
pushing myself against moments of passing,
watching the clouds darken above me,
as the chill of night crept into my heart.
I ran, faster than a pace I could carry,
finding that I was alone with all my fears.

********************************

http://www.trueloveofcoffee.com

Last Stand

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Honor, Survival

Last Stand

In paradise, we find the most reward
The light of hope and of morning resurrection,
Of daring that we, above all else,
Are the chosen few who must survive.
The land, from rolling hills to perfect ocean shores,
Is the vision to which we will wake,
We will seek our destiny, with laughter and humility,
Against the fury of breaking waves,
As our spirits pound against the swords of man,
And our honor finds itself spoken only in passing.
The trial of our lives, the question of our existence
Found only in moments of recollection
By those who would be our family,
Without ever having embraced us in hand,
But owing us everything in heart.
The very trial of our existence, our very purpose,
Written into history, by our actions and our beliefs.
To be remembered and embraced,
Fueling our passion in such sacrifice,
That we, the few, have given our lives.

The way people live

Posted by in Author's Favorites, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Dreams, Friendship, Honor, Survival

I don’t get too much time these days to stop and smell the roses, sometimes however sweet they are. Rather I ask myself if I remember what roses smell like. Ironically, I find myself lacking that memory. People often fail to realize if they will miss the moments of life they love, and yet I look at things and find myself terrified of losing even my past, the warm scent of life that made me smile.

What does that mean? it means I actually miss the people I care about. I miss them a lot. Unlike many people who take moments of living for granted, I take every second as if it were a treasure… the kind you would covet as a child and hide away from all danger, both real and imaginary.

This is not something that passes, for me at least, part of who I am is locked in a moment of perfect clarity. In a fear of forgetting every perfect moment, I sometimes find them haunting. Yet I feel that strange desire of actually having something worth holding, something worth sacrifice and triumph. Something worth the very tears that remind me how my heart feels.

I find myself struggling on a daily basis to reach the goal of being triumphant… of feeling it… and when I try to succeed I am aware that my efforts were too late… that I failed. Realizing I have failed someone I cared about is brutal reminder that my duty is not something that I can ignore or that I can set aside. I am better than that.

Some people refer to me as a healer, a person of serendipitous nature and exact purpose. I am a catalyst of sorts, the person people interact with to produce a reaction of unusual results.

This leads me to a question that has been asked of me before, “what is my purpose in life?”

I seem to be a conduit. Something that is not a destination, but a place of action where one does not stop. My nature provokes people into moving from A to B, and there are no stops where I am. That has always been my life, a place where people never have time to smell the roses.

I feel like I am a rose. The kind of blossom that stands by itself against the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise and be embraced by a moment of warmth, only to acknowledge that the moon and stars will soon replace the vibrancy of life that keeps me warm.

Perfect little stars. The gemini in me realizes that duality better than most. Perfect and brilliant speckles of hope that keep me hoping that the sunrise will soon make me warm again, that the beautiful night sky is a place that feels too alone.

I promised my daughter a long time ago that I would never give up on people I care about. I do not let my dreams die so easily. That is a far more difficult realization than I care to admit. Failure is not an option. Allowing my dreams, my promises, and my hopes to fade away is simply something I will not let happen.

So I keep moving. I try to explain some things, and I leave some things without any explanation as I push myself harder and faster. The brutality of caring for people often leaves me left uncared for, but that is my life. I know what will or will not kill me. I am a survivor… a catalyst that serves a purposes for the things around me.

I will always care. Honestly and wholeheartedly. Even when I the world fails to give me time to say it, I will always remember and honor how I feel.

The Fall of Rome

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Defiant, Featured, Survival

It was not truth,
as I had witnessed in life
but spires of blackness from society
The death plume of innocence
and compassion,
of both heart and love.
The heartiest soil,
broken beneath mighty morality
and fundamental ideology.
This was not democracy
the fallacy of hope
chastised by false religion
It was the corruption of mankind
as we tried to fail
in passionate blindness
falling upon the very swords
that our most courageous held
and the purest believed in,
symbols that were thrust upon our enemy
the very flesh and blood of kin,
finding our only purpose,
to be conquerers,
of the thing no one wanted.

If the world hates, hate me

Posted by 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.

Posted by 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 Hero

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival

It was tragic, the serenity of the crystal blue water
broken by chaotic waves of life trying to survive
The silence of november’s leaves fluttering about
as the calm intent of nature signaled the coming storm.

It was perfect in everybreath-taking, beautiful way…
but it became horrific. Deadly enough that I cried,
not knowing if the casual stroll would be defining of my life
or of someone elses.

I heard the screaming, the silence broken as if so fragile
yet loud enough to draw my vision across the lake
and I became witness, in disbelieving horror,
to a small child, near a turned boat, struggling for life.

My mind became lost, confused in the crisis of panic
of knowing that my actions, would define or destroy everything.
I ran quickly to the dock, the boards creaking under my passage
and everything vanished as I dove headfirst into the water.

The water was so cold, yet my heart failed to stop beating,
it shocked me into moving quickly, faster, harder
as I choked down the pain of my muscles cramping,
and pushed my body to either move forward or break.

My ears lost the sound of the child’s muffled struggle,
and my mind searched for hope trying to believe they were not gone.
The water became calm, except for my desperate race
as I reached the boat, without a child to be found.

I couldn’t feel my leg, or didn’t want to,
the pain jabbing up into my chest from the icy water
yet I took a breath, deep into my soul
and prayed my spirit was strong enough as I dove under.

Five feet, ten, twenty…
I went as deep as I could, touching the soot of the lake bed below.
I tried, to keep hope, as I surfaced for breath,
to hold on just a minute longer, as I tried again to choke down the pain.

One more breath, I could do one more
if not for my life, for the child.
I couldn’t give up on someone so young,
so desperate that I could feel it in my soul.

I took my hope, prayed to someone up above
and thought to myself; no one should ever be left alone.
With that belief, I gasped for enough strength
as I forced myself to dive again, hoping, no, still praying.

That I wouldn’t be the one who left this child be gone
I searched, until I lost my breath, and water poured into my lungs
forcing me to the top, denying my spirit what I was searching for
not realizing my hand was grasping so tightly the hand I found in darkness.

I tried, with the last effort I had,
to push the coughing child onto the upturn boat, never realizing
that my strength was gone, the child was safe
yet I hadn’t saved enough to save myself.

The Victim and the Savoire

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Survival

It was an amazing calm day
people bustling across the street
daily life just moving along
at a brisk pace

The signal of death
broke the silence
as a car sped by
spreading senseless death
to the common wanderer
I saw you, poor child
fall to your side,
followed by my body
laying down beside you

I remember the feeling,
the need to die, losing control of my muscles
The pounding of my heart
every second that split into two avenues
it was chance
freak uncontrollable fate
life or death
purposely defining one moment
with the possible outcome of the next

I remember darkness
sweet bitter emptiness
then a moment of light
I tried to push myself off the pavement
so hard that I couldn’t feel my body
it had died already
choosing to leave my spirit behind
but I did not want to leave
no, I wasn’t ready just yet
as I was given a chance
to give a gift, the control of your destiny

The taste of life dripped off my lips
crimson drops of sustenance
coloring the pavement beneath me
yet I held on, pushing past the pain
trying to control my body like a puppet
not realizing someone had cut my strings
I was cold, except for the warmth in my heart
I don’t know if it was love
or rage
but it burned deep inside me
fueling my spirit to blaze so brightly
that no one saw the hero I would be
no one to witness, just me

I cried, screaming in pain
without making a sound
breathing so heavy,
but never catching my breath
and I stood,
with no one,
save you
to witness the act
you stupid, beautiful child
and you didn’t know my name
but you would
I put my lips against yours
and breathed life into you
once more

Your eyes opened,
the very last thing I would see
was the life I gave you
and my spirit would leave
so quickly,
with so little hesitation
that I fell down beside you
the small child I never knew

Yet when I died
looking to the sky
my spirit, the gentle savoir
the caring soul you never knew
made a decision
to give you life
as a gift
and then parted
as my strength was gone
but my spirit lived a new

A message of being perfectly mixed

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Survival

One year ago, today
No, last night
Was a perfect dream
The only time
When life
And love
When dreams
And reality
Became one
In a world of mirrors
I saw something
In a reflection of myself
The phases of life
The angles of imagination
Deep, yet broken
Crystal clear, but partial
Definite and abstract
My life
Combined with everything
Including itself

My Daughter

Posted by in Coffee - Volume Two, Loss, Love, Survival

Without doubt, there was a time I hated myself
Not because of you, but because I had no more faith
I loved you, more than I could have ever wanted to
My thoughts, my heart, held you closer than could be imagined

But fate, or the universe, did not care for love
Against every breath I took, every beat of my heart,
I struggled as my hand let go, and my soul could only say ‘no’.
I could only hate myself for crumbling against the loss.

My words, as I thought them, couldn’t be spoken.
I was too far gone, too broken to understand the grief
Yet my eyes looked at you, your perfect face,
And I was briefly tortured by love as I felt myself die.

I do not know if I had faith, if god even existed
Yet on that day I broke myself, I cared for you more than I
And I learned to hate a world full of unknown chances
Yet I never, in my heart, brought myself to disbelieve in you

Your voice, had I heard it, would have been amazing
A brilliant reminder that your soul could dance
But it was never loud enough to hear,
Because the world had denied you a chance to cry

Yet you touched me, no, inspired me to hold on.
Your life, whether short or almost unknown,
Was all too complete. You were loved, more than many.
and with that love, you showed me how to live.

Never again I thought, never again
Would I break myself upon the rocks of unfamiliarity
If I could not share myself with the people I cared,
then I would try, again and again, until I died

I would imagine, and trust,
That one second of being with someone I loved
Was worth the cost of a lifetime of suffering,
And it would let me honor a life no one else remembered

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