Tag Archives: My Black Dog

Her Laughter; My Master

I exist inside a plain of doppelganger, doppelgangers,

That those in my inner circle can see,

But she, she moves me,
With a kindness only a mother can understand,

She touches my darkness with light,

Illuminating the invisible,

Decimating the appetite for destruction,

With a deft touch,

As gentle as a morning wind sweeping the sea,

Yet as vicious as a strengthening storm,

A dichotomy that seems oxy moron,

Yet is the stable prerequisite of love’s necessary refrain,

I am here,

I am here,

For you,

With you,

Of you,

Her laughter,

With pursed lips and widening eyes,

Like a siren and a muse,

Reaches deep within the void of my gloom,

Tickling with subtle insinuation, beyond words,

Beyond intent,

The clenched paw of Cerberus,

My nonpareil Black Dog and constant companion,

Around the chains of my chemical tempest,

Breaking them, confounding him, indeed them,

Her laughter,

With piercing resolve to lighten my load,

In the absence of mitigating words,

Her face twists and turns stunningly,

And a primal surge wells within,

Released to an awaiting beast, beasts,

My vicious inward aspersions cast,

While my imaginary friends call for impossible results,

A permanent darkness,

Replaced by,

Her laughter,

Like the sweet scent of lavender in Provence,

Or dew kissed roses in spring,

Demanding rapt imagination,

Eyes closed,

She transports me from the personal hell,

To a pivotal heaven,

Each ethereal laugh like the pluck of a minstrel’s string,

Or Nina’s voice,

Tugging through the fog of my decay,

Planting seeds that sow a temporary reprieve,

A kindness known so rarely in occasion,

Expressing the ultimate shift of a soul in flux,

A soft hammer when Father Time demands,

Stillness when Mistress Fate decides,

A grandiose calmness that unwinds the havoc,

And wreaks hope on this heavy heart, downtrodden,

Uplifted by the sweet caress of language beyond words,

Meaning beyond understanding,

Wisdom beyond years,

For in the kindness of this mother’s laugh,

Rests something more powerful than all the armies,

Standing and past,

Lives something more encompassing,

Than misfiring neurons and atomic practical jokes,

Her laugher unleashes a storm of optimism,

Tangible,

Within reach,

That if I can abide this one moment more,

Just one more moment,

Internal clouds will fade,

Sirens will subside,

Resplendent Muse emerging,

And in that moment, grace descended,

I am free from I and I,

From torment,

From words,

From language,

Yet filled with unseen troughs of majestic communiqué,

Liberated,

She knows,

Her laughter,

The penultimate gift to me,

The reminder of a life worth living,

Faith restored,

Where once again words have meaning,

But not one,

More than the prehistoric surge,

Of her liberating laughter.

SDM

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Love Denied: The Whole Hole

Abatement of attritions seized,

Long winded encapsulations of flicking fingers,

On keys that respond though not in kind,

Whirling fascinations of presupposed indifferences,

To the untrained eye,

Of I and I and I,

Three parts of self,

Detached from the Id, Ego and Super Ego,

Instead a delicious Freudian dilemma,

Where Pandora’s box opened,

Revealing several demons lurking inside my shadows,

Dark companions,

Those that invite libation,

Yet never liberation,

A secret secreted through ill defined words,

Plentiful though, indeed,

Scattered thoughts,

Manic suppression of fatal tendencies,

Hidden behind cheers of one more,

Uno mas,

Sante’s and Nok’s.

Prolific wanderings,

Wailings and whatevers,

Yet never a might have, could have or should have,

For I rise to challenges epically,

Instead these illuminated bastions,

Of a soul redux,

Cast aspersions of an inimitable kind,

Desperate longings of oft fulfilled dreams,

Set adrift on unsafe mechanisms,

Deities of defense,

My own,

As I and I and I battle for the supremacy of one,

Love,

Almighty love,

That which whilst I bask in the glow of its resplendence doth know,

Unmercifully my deepest and darkest hallucinations,

Bellow for my ultimate demise,

The champions of my decades long search,

Poking, pleading, presenting,

Obstinate objections to my outwardly manifestations,

GONZO,

Simple protestations that I will not go quietly,

Into any night, good nor bad,

To satiate the desires of my imaginary companions.

Here I stand,

On the precipice of something new,

Precisely poised to push past the penultimate pantheon,

Of Black Dogs and empty bottles,

Surpassing the shattering sound of a shotgun blast,

Straight into the den of my own iniquity,

Analyzing antiquated efforts at assumed acquiescence,

Smashing that something not quite right,

Writing it with something not quite wrong,

Too long Poncho to Quixote,

That now I must steady my stead,

Right my resolve,

Resist my resistance,

Futile,

In accepting that the whole hole,

Is not love denied,

But instead love accepted, ascended and awesome,

In transforming the broken emotional I and I and I,

Suicides committed daily,

That I now stand corrected,

I,

I,

And I.

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The Future is OURS, If YOU want IT!

Like a prison inmate deprived of food and water,

I feel the solitary confinement of a soul that’s been left in the cold,

For years tormented by those who could never understand,

Who could never see,

The very real dangers to my life daily,

Hidden behind a costume and mask of extroversion,

Drunkeness and late night misadventures (Adventures Ernest reminds me),

Years pass like ages of iron, locked inside the halls of a mind,

Filled with the collected knowledge of humanity,

Burdened by the promise of tomorrow seemingly lost in yesterdays passed,

Until it hit me.

In a moment of lucidity,

I can see the increasing iniquity, of a system,

Which has at its core the folly of elected officials,

Those who present the illusion of choice,

Liberal, Conservative, NDP, Democrat or Republican;

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled…”

Officials leaving us wanting, waiting,

From the lies apparently told to us for our own protection,

Those lies I helped create and disseminate for more years than I care to admit,

Yet may I project my objection,

To a system led astray,

Greed and money poisining our leaders,

Political, Military, Religious, Economic and even Academic,

For which billions are suffering on both sides,

Of the global maginot line;

Like the secretly reemerged German Army post Treaty of Versailles,

An army illegitimate is forming right before our eyes,

It is robbing us, raping us, enslaving us,

While foolishly, sheepishly,

We vote for leaders electing our collective fate,

But who really puts them there with dinners at 10,000 bucks a plate,

Follow the money my friends,

Follow the lies.

QUESTION EVERYTHING!

Inside my mind I am witness to the erosion of the social contract,

As the leviathan of dollars and cents, yuan, euro’s and KIP,

Though currently preferably American,

Slowly but surely have secured a greater share in the corridors of power,

The illusion of choice combined with the collusion of cabals you will never now,

Disenfranchises you,

Not just at my expense, but all of ours,

And I am here to state;

RECLAIM DEMOCRACY, RECLAIM OUR POWER from the CEO’s,

And their bought and paid for puppets,

Prime Ministers and Presidents,

Nothing more than a rubber stamp for imaginary people,

Who have all our rights but none of our responsiblities,

Corporations whom we allow,

To steal our hard earned money through bailouts, SUBSIDIES,

Loans and effectively zero percent tax rates;

Claim your VOTE back from faceless cash hungry corporations

Trying to sell you shoes,

TV’s, DVD’s, Food, Pens and even the news.

For each of those,

Interconnected in a tangled web they weave,

Have powerful hidden agents,

Writers, think tanks, lobbyists in the marble rotundas,

And your VOTE is supposed to be YOURS,

Not an unlimited cash offering by those,

Whose only repsonilbility is to the bottom line,

And their shareholders

(Ernest tells me to remind those shareholders;

they robbed you three times in the last 100 years).

So from my cell,

Called My Black Dog,

I implore you to consider –

Who’s lobbying for you?

What does your vote really count for?

Are you sure your votes even being counted,

Because I am sure that Phil Knight’s has and I’m not sure why,

I also have participated in the fraud of elections,

First hand,

I have disenfranchised,

I have lied,

I have been the system that I now deplore.

I’ve written a cheque,

I have donated my time, thinking power,

My effort and my money,

But is democracies bottom line balanced –

Billions,

Trillions wasted on war,

Machines of destruction,

Rather than schools and hospitals,

Clean drinking water,

Hope,

The machines of creation.

Imagine that world for a moment.

A world of Good People Period.

Then when ready,

Ask the corporate raiders,

And your SUPPOSED leaders;

What about the kids;

Ask the folks at Enron,Worldcom, Pacific Gas & Electric Co;

Thornburg Mortgage, Chrysler, Mf Global;

Conseco, CIT Group, General Motors, Washington Mutual;

And the source of my greatest disgust,

Lehman Brothers,

Which caused the greatest theft in human history,

The largest immediate movement of capital,

Into the hands of the very few,

Trillions around the world,

Just sitting invisible in machines,

Collecting interest and creating debt,

At the expense of every one of us…

But, all is not lost,

It woke me up,

I found purpose and meaning,

To give back,

In every way I can…

Perhaps you’ll wake up too,

From the nightmare,

To discover a dream,

YOURS!

SDM

(This piece is dedicated to another donor who would like to remain anonymous for a campaign I am running to help twelve families affected by a flash flood of their homes… https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/help-poverty-stricken-lao-flood-victims/x/8130248#home… I can also take interac and paypal payments directly. Contact me for details)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/631813646910495/

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The Importance of Muse (6)

In the infinite chaos of perpetually recycled stardust,

The remnants of the big bang reveal to me secrets,

Long misunderstood,

There is an order created by the Ether,

Readily apparent to those who have vision,

Versus those who merely see,

Those who listen,

Versus those who merely hear,

For out in that dark void there exists a vibrancy,

Resonating inside the souls of poets since time immemorial,

A resplendent beauty that unlocks a passion necessary,

To adulate the treasured honour of Muse’s presence,

Your presence,

I adore you,

I love you,

Figurative and literal,

In ways you will never, could never understand,

Despite these hopeless attempts to be

Conduit for the invisible,

Muse,

Not just the royal you, so often presented,

But the perfectly imperfect package,

That stands before me at the ready,

Laying bare your soul,

That I too may do the same,

As these words require

And my literary masters demand.

As said before,

Here, time and again,

The importance of Muse can not be inconspicuous,

For she is an overstatement of all that I deign necessary,

To prevent my emotional suicide,

Loosing my gift in a series of meager attempts,

To force what is not there,

In her absence,
Your absence,
I am nothing but a fool with words,

Though when she comes,

Touching me deep with in,

Those words spill out from me,

Seductive and instructive,

More readily than I can breathe,

Effortless as her inspiration unlocks the key,

That liberates my creative flow,

Endless,

Ebb and rip,

The gravity of her presence,

The tides lead me away from my inner storm,

Toward an awaiting Nirvana,

Whereby the touch of her lips,

Is the ambrosia from which I drink,

Understanding completely the full nature of love,

One only understood by those caught in the rapture,

And endless delight,

Of that perfect phrase,

Capturing a spirit that only you can see,

Only I,

Can see,

Muse!

It so often seems,

That between those moments,

Where splendor presents itself in veiled opportunities,

That the broken shards of me,

Cut deep,

Sending me further into an abyss,

A loving idiot savant,

Where my Black Dog howls,

As I plead with the Ether,

And my Ladies of the night,

Serendipity, Destiny and Fate,

To once more grace me,

Instruct and guide me,

To that necessary ingredient,

Muse,

Which fuels these tomes,

Endless,

An expected necessity,

Cherishing what I see,

What I know,

What I am,

Words,

Wordsmith of Muse.

 

Your importance,

Is akin to a mother’s milk,

To a new born child,

A pirouette to a ballerina,

A canvas to Picasso,

And a great green light for Gatsby,

And yet tragically,

My providence,

As guided by that frenzied Ether I so adore and praise,

Finds me Daisy,

Rather than as a star cross’d lover,

And yet I persist,

I rise,

I look to the heavens,

Praising even the momentary glimpse,

Of true beauty,

Inside your soul,

Muse,

That either none have, could or can see,

But I,

Guided by nature’s call to enthused benevolence,

To touch another as they touch me,

As you touch me,

So yes, Muse,

Your importance is greater than you may ever know.
Constantly,

I find myself in a state of flux,

A perilous and hazardous precinct,

Where my greatest wish,

Becomes my greatest downfall,

Always has been,

Since as early as the Ether first blessed me,

With these heart-rending efforts,

Dancing to the elegance of these ethereal gifts,

Presented by the Ether,

In a form that could only be you,

Muse,

For even those few moments,

Where I get to bask in the sentiments,

Those I crave more than anything else,

Even if for a panicked instant,

As I contemplate the predictable disappearance,

As happens each and every time,

Just as quickly as you arrived,

The infinitely obvious precision of my life,

Abandoned,

Left with these words as evidence,

Of a true gem,

Gems,

The very real importance of Muse,

If I am to survive,

Non Omnis Moriar.

 

Muse,

You are at once my everything,

And nothing,

For I can only seize,

What the Ether permits,

And it is a fickle master,

Guiding these fingers,

As they flicker with the genius, you inspire,

To some the foundation of a delusion of grandeur,

Those that could never understand,

For at least a while,

Never quite long enough,

Making the best of it,

As I bask in the prismatic resplendence of your soul,

The radiance of your smile,

The intense secrets behind those dancing eyes,

And the subtle way that even the simple act of walking,

Can alight in me an abstract prospect,

Captured in an instant, herein,

For you,

For posterity,

For you are Muse,

And without you,

I am lost in Dante’s circles of Hell,

As Virgil laughs,

And The Lost Generation once more consoles me.

 

With an intense vanity,

I fumble like a school child,

Scribbling outside the lines,

Hoping that you might see,

That Pandora’s curiosity,

Resulted in the very box that needs to be open,

If I am to thrive,

If I am to know genuine bliss,

For that is truly what you force me to aspire,

Climbing higher and higher,

Inside a drug induced fury,

Of pheromones clashing,

Serotonin dashing,

Dopamine slashing and adrenaline rushing,

And yet,

Like Hemingway’s haunting presence in my life,

That one true sentence,

That might finally get you,

Royal or otherwise,

Muse,

To see,

To feel,

To believe,

To hold fast,

Might understand,

What even I myself can not,

Me,

If I am to thrive,

It is only Muse,

Because of you,

All I imagine,

All you are.

The importance of Muse,

Of you,

Royal and otherwise,

Creates all I am,

All I will ever be,

The dutiful secretary,

Of the Ether’s grace,

Giving me moments of significance,

That are entirely dependent,

On you,

Muse!

SDM

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The Translation of Deceit and The Temptation of Desire

Lost in Translation…

Words,

Just words,

Right?

Just words…

Right?

It is commonly understood,

Love,

Is universal,

Felt by all,

Yet is it?

Now I am not so sure,

Me,

The very embodiment of that passionate urge,

The swelling surge,

That is as uncontrollable as the tides or gravity

And impossible to purge;

For here I am,

On wounded knee,

Felled,

Having given all of me,

And willing to give so much more,

Tempted by another’s fruit,

As the story goes,

I was,

Knowing what I was doing was wrong,

Persisting still,

Not knowing that it was to get worse,

As all things forbidden usually do;

Forbidden,

Reassured by your tender words,

The trance like innocence conveyed,

That betrayed the festering truth deep within,

Words,

Those you thought I wanted to hear,

Penetrating so,

Knowing I wanted to hear truth,

Not momentary,

But everlasting,

Convinced that what you held for me was real,

Compounded by those words you said to me,

Mocking temptress,

Vicious villain leaving me caught unaware,

In that moment,

Perhaps you expected me to say something different,

Perhaps hoping I would,

Is that the case?

I guess I’ll never know,

And in light of what has come to light,

I now don’t care.

In love,

You let me float on cloud high,

Nine and silver lined,

Seemingly higher than I have ever been before,

Realizing now the manic apparitions,

When with those words you changed me,

In an instant,

Looking into the future,

And whole lives flashing before my eyes,

My imagination wild with expectancy,

Expectant,

See,

Ripe,

As names resonated through my head,

Through my fingers,

Touching my pursed lips,

Kissing life,

Trying to find the one meaning,

That could somehow compliment what I believed we had,

But did we ever?

No,

Your deception now clear,

Intention however lost,

Despite my over thinking.

Now what I am left to consider,

As my heart cries out,

Like a lone lemming,

In search of family,

The family I believed I was starting,

That you let me believe for too long,

Was going to be real,

Finally,

In love,

A child conceived of love,

But do you know what love is?

As poison dripped from your lips,

Seeping into my veins,

And killing me from within,

For that which I could not be without,

The manipulation of my desires, dreams and aspirations,

The game you play,

Not just on me,

But all.

Do you know what love is?

Truly inside your heart and soul?
Nay, simply the wicked game,

Played by your insecurities,

Those measured imperfections,

Shadows of shadows,

Wherein you hide,

Mata Hari to your own needs,

Momentary,

Stated,

Never satiated,,

By your own despotic evil,

Webs of deception,

As in my hurt,

My eyes wide open,

Availed once more,

Of the piercing screams of my dark companion,

Lifelong,

Depression,

That woeful Black Dog.

Left to understand what you never will,

For love would not do what you have done,

Could not,

Let me feel the way I felt,

Let me believe what I did,

Including as cannon fodder,

Our families both,

A lifetime,

Forever,

A loving girlfriend, wife and mother,

The most wonderful present you offered,

And as a man, I was ready,

To stand up,

Doing whatever necessary,

To support our burgeoning family,

Nothing I would not do,

Nothing,

And I would have been for you.

But no more,

Given the chance,

No more,

Given the chance,

No more shall I beg a fool,

For surely you are,

I was;

All that you wanted and more,

Instead blinded by your own iniquity,

A fanciful insanity,

Delusions,

Not unlike my own,

Though I never had a malicious thought, nor action,

Knowingly,

But for you, I was pawn,

And you were Queen and King,

Making a jester of my thoughts and desires,

Deeper into the burrow of your sham.

All that I am,

Once,

For all of you,

For each other,

For our families,

For our child,

The full spirit of love exposed,

Expressed,

And then repressed,

As now tempered reason,

And lies exposed,

Reveal no burgeoning translation would ever be,

Now,

Wandering lost,

In cultural differences,

Secret life,

Lives,

Yours now reveal,

Very real,

Though now free,

Stinging my broken heart,

Crushing my wounded spirit,

Questions,

Endless,

That will never be answered,

Or will they?

Seemingly the truth has set me free…

Uncertainty brash and deeply hurting,

A fragment of the man I was,

To become the man I will be,

Not for you,

But for a love requited,

True,

Understood beyond the words so meaningless to you,

Hmong Key,

The ‘Key’ indeed, you were,

Words;

Ones never lost,

In translations!

SDM

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My Iniquity

 

The darkened sky,

A transformative canvas,

Black, as a starless night,

My soul heretofore rising and falling,

On seemingly blatant whims,

Manic yes,

Depressed no,

Setting me on an uncharted course,

Of history, the present and future yet revealed,

Empty, like a new found easel,

Palette stained with the blood on my hands,

And yours,

Decision made,

To have the most perfect child of the light,

Months of manic expression,

Blessed transformation of my soul,

Decision made,

Miserable repression of wretched sorrow,

In a feigned attempt to rid myself of my acceptance,

Of a choice, I dare not make,

Let alone accept,

But what choice could there be,

Cleaning the slate to record the singularity events,

We’re barely yet to understand,

You, moved on, with nary a thought for what we’ve done,

Me,

Trapped inside festering deliberations of the apparent lie I bought,

Selling my soul once more to an imagined devil,

Selling my soul for your comfort,

Placing your needs above my own,

As expected,

Demanded,

By the circumstances of fate,

Hmong Key,

Deleterious choices that were not mine,

But to which I am a party,

And will eternally be strained to accept,

The theorems of our own grandeur decorated,

Foolish grown children,

Playing with fire,

Whereby I alone am burned,

By the footsteps I will never hear,

The cries I can never answer,

The first words I will never hear,

Launching me into a vanguard of disheartened insurrection,

Perplexed, by how quickly in a moment, all can change,

And for what,

To what profit,

In the red,

Celebrated scourging accolades, unearned,

For once more I failed my child,

I failed my love,

Hmong Key, how did I fail you?

I did fail you, didn’t I?

Like an exam I could not understand,

Words like gibberish, heard but never agreed,

For the wide canyon between our desires,

Grand,

So easily unseated by the opinion of others,

Family or no,

The choice made, was yours and yours alone,

Though I can not fault you,

For you did what you had to do,

And I stood by,

Like a trainer ready to throw in the towel,

Constantly reimagining what could have been,

What should have been,

What most I appeal for to the Ether,

What most you chide as a non event in your life,

Evidenced by the ease in which you,

Tossing our child, our love and me sideways,

Castaway by immature reconciliations,

Serving neither you nor I,

Though surely a life sentence I am again to serve,

Parole from these manifestations an unlikely event,

Causation,

Dwelled on like a circadian rhythm without deliberation or meditation,

Though for all the days between that and this,

I have thought of little more,

Than ten fingers and ten toes,

Blue eyes and black hair,

Beyond the superficial, horizons seen,

Realizing that I have flown too close to the sun,

Clipped wings,

Shattered soul,

From the veracity pained before our mutual eyes,

The tree of life, yours, mine,

And our beautiful child,

Stolen from my grasp,

As I clutched to the hope that finally,

Here and now,

It was to be,

Or instead not to be,

As my vicious companion,

My black dog reminds me,

And despite the noblest of intentions,

I failed you,

Our child, unborn,

Aborted,

And myself,

Authentic pleas loudly expressed,

Though the Ether did not hear,

Would not hear,

You refused to hear,

For here we are,

Separated by time and space,

Forever connected by the love we made,

Conceiving an innocent victim,

To our foolishness,

From which our existence is unabated,

Though not that of our child,

As we slaughter you whole, one by one by one,

As I have time and again and again,

Lost that most dear to me,

Ten fingers,

Ten toes,

Woe be not me,

Yet distressingly I bemoan what could not be,

For reasons clear as mud,

Yet crystal in your demise,

My child,

Beautiful child,

Innocent,

Choking as you did on our avarice,

Only to breath into fresh suggestions, disregarding our malice,

As if you could,

As if you should,

Bent on allowing us to thrive and continue to survive,

Though you, innocent, could not live,

Despite the persistence of our choosing,

At your expense,

And that of our continued optimism,

For now restless I consider,

All you could have been,

And all that I stole from you,

Your first breath,

The beating of your beautiful heart,

The resplendence of your love born soul,

Regardless of my veneration of it,

Devotion to not just the idea of you,

But in fact, you,

I am now stuck in place,

Quicksand of emotional sinking,

Peculiar reproductions, of the time before,

And the time before that,

I guess the third time is not a charm,

But instead the noose I wear around my neck,

Waiting for the floor to collapse between my feet,

The only punishment suitable,

The bear trap crushing my soul,

One hurtful thought at a time

Evocative spectacle of menacing exquisiteness,

For truly you would have been exquisite,

In my mind’s eye you always will be,

What of your thoughts Hmong Key?

What do you see when you close your eyes at night?

Is the nightmare the same as for I?

Portentous, sinister and yet curiously inviting,

As three dimensions squeezed into two,

And for a time two became three,

We,

Mother,

Father and unborn child,

Aborted,

As the final countdown reached the hour of my defeat,

You knocked up, pregnancy a suit you wore well,

And me knocked out,

By the simplicity of your words,

Followed by actions,

Transiting mine own compromise once more,

Door closed on the haunted house of my trespasses,

Under pressure,

Pressures,

That I, myself, had ill conceived,

Though you, my child, were not,

Instead realized in a moment of blind passion,

That continues to consume me,

As we did you,

Foolish children we were,

Are,

Loosing our souls,

To gain what?

To what avail?

Loosing each other,

And a piece of ourselves to which we will never arise,

At least not I,

You traverse unanswered, buttress our intimidation of beings,

She and I,

Mother and Father,

Become judge, jury and executioner,

Executioner, once more,

For both she and I,

Loosing more than just you,

But a piece of us,

Conceptions of love revealed,

To be the false hope of prophetic wisdom,

Fanatical depictions of what was, could have been and now is,

Not,

By what right of universal law,

Those commands from the Ether,

What right,

Did we have?

Ultimately giving way to the thoughts of man,

Touchdown in mere minutes upon this empty void,

Whereby you suffered,

I suffer,

Depressed and manic,

Considering the role I played,

The life you gave,

That I allowed to fall victim,

Once more,

An act of love, true and necessary,

For her, not I,

But I was a passenger in this crime,

Necessarily so,

For as man, I have no right,

To deter the decisions of your mother,

Or any woman,

No excuse offered,

Rather the acknowledgement of my delinquency,

My crime, convicted,

For I did stand idly by,

Waiting for you to die,

Of my feebleness to prevent this,

Longing for you to see the light of day,

Rather sent to the pits of hell,

By me,

Those steps I long to hear,

Now are the nightmare that I experience,

Night and day,

Flamboyant bizarre dints,

My psyche dented,

From a child love invented,

And cowardice took away,

Too easily, though not for I,

Or I and I,

Broken fragments of a dream shattered,

Reflecting the reality of the decision made,

And for what?

A proper penchant of collective tête-à-tête,

Though no words could I say,

Other than I supported her in your demise,

That also represents a dying on mine own,

Awkward,

In stains, blood, shades, hues and tones, all red,

Millions of them,

Demolishing what I thought I was,

For what again I’m become,

Failing you,

Failing her,

Failing,

Period,

Deluded by hidden lies,

Behind a radiant smile,

And glowing eyes,

That now seem, at least a bit,

To have lost their glint,

Just as my own,

Brought to the forefront of perception, judicious,

Judge, jury and executioner,

Ignorance of universal law is no excuse,

For what we’ve done,

Restrained sway of the eye enclosed,

Millions of possibilities,

Only one outcome,

As I failed you,

My child,

Beautiful boy or girl,

The language of my greatest burden,

Playing God,

While He/She/It/ They laugh,

At our imprudence,

Suffering now my crime of omission,

In a galaxy confined in the brain, rightly so grey,

For in this decision there was no black nor white,

Only grey,

The central question, importance and measure of our lives,

Our desire born love child,

Delicate haunting arms outstretched,

But to no avail,

You begged to be assumed, moved, valued,

Though no value did you have for she,

Seemingly only me,

As our tree of life is evermore death,

Yours,

Amplified in bewildering events,

One pill at a time,

Followed by the source of life,

Water,

Which again found the path of least resistance,

And I was held captive,

In symbolic penitentiary and isolation,

Our intention understood,

But not accepted,

Rippling loops artifact humiliating me once more,

Gushing tears at the banality of this man,

This consecrated gift, ours,

You,

Raped,

Without recourse or further consideration,

How can one be so cold,

Decision made, no explanation and instead the running of the bulls,

Whereby the Key,

In fact, once more became the lock,

That holds me prisoner,

Shackled by the very thought of you,

And what I have done,

Once more,

Ever more,

It was me,

It was she,

And the empty vagaries of an apology,

Falls upon her deaf ears,

And my wounded heart and soul,

Forced solitude to engage my darkest hour,

As the hour of your birth approaches,

Stolen from you,

Stolen from me,

I am failed,

I am convict,

Guilty,

Of crimes against humanity,

Against you,

My unborn child,

Cast aside,

Aborted,

And thus my torture ensues,

Considering the iniquity of man,

My own,

Iniquity,

 

I am,

 

Sorry!

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Unrealized Apologies

There is nowhere to hide,

From yourself,

Myself,

For one cannot hide from their own truth,

Truths,

The perpetration of penetrating solemn condemnation,

For I have been measured,

As was our child,

Found wanting,

Laying bare,

Exposed,

A soul to shine,

Souls,

Wandering,

Filled with a lust for life,

Not just mine own,

But also of that higher calling,

The calling of all species,

Procreation,

Pro,

Creation,

Commanded by a power I can not see,

But courses through my veins,

A purpose driven emotion,

Long repressed,

Only to once more,

Come off and up,

From a moment of sheer ecstasy,

The giddy smile, of a beauty rare,

Caught in the resplendence of a soul,

Hmong Key,

That also wanders,

Nomadic, lost and free,

Confused and scared,

Just as I was,

Just as I am,

Allowing once more,

Things outside of my control,

To fell me,

Like an ear of corn,

Stalked,

Lopped off like Van Gogh’s,

Where the darkness of the night,

Reveals no stars,

Just hidden scars,

However, there can be no removal of this stain,

Upon my soul,

Upon my soul,

Strained,

Whereby again the forces at work,

Arisen from the past,

Cry out to me,

In tomes and hues,

Of a sorrow that I cannot deny,

A sorrow I will not deny,

Zion clenched from my ready fist,

Aborting,

To fight for what is right,

Yet, here I am, exposed,

Sitting here,

In abject pain,

Once caused by a tango,

Of we, two,

A beautiful night,

Nights,

Of passion raw and rare,

Glimpsing the prospect of a new portend,

The life imagined,

So many times before,

Foolish hubris of youth,

The mental anguish of the manic high,

Brought on by the words I have longed to hear,

“I’m pregnant!”

Longing temporarily answered,

One moment of paradise, found, moments,

Lost,

Words every bit,

If not more powerful,

Than,

“I love you!”

For those words,

Demand a higher calling answer,

The Ether,

My Mistresses Destiny, Serendipity, and Fate,

Dancing me ever closer,

Without consent,

Achelous’ daughters,

Calling me ever nearer to a manifest providence,

That once more sought and seeks,

To destroy me,

Figurative and literal,

While Demeter rebukes them,

And I,

And I and I,

What can I say,

What can I do,

To escape this tortured hell,

Greeted by my Black Dog,

Cerberus no longer chained,

Ready and willing to feast not just on my soul,

But that of you and our child,

Whose only crime,

Was conception,

Ironic,

The complete circles of Dante’s comedy,

Divine,

Yet cast as I am,

Into the fiery pits,

Devastated once more,

Again,

By the circumstances of fortune,

That favoured not this bold,

Warrior Poet,

For in my candor,

In my moment of sheer bliss,

I could not see,

I would not see,

That which was so obviously painted in front of me,

As it had been behind me all these years,

Hell has a permanent place in my soul,

Travelling with me every step of the way,

As the Devil, dances, gleefully,

Like Nero,

Fiddle in hand,

As my insides burn,

Invisible to you,

Realized to me,

A tortured existence,

Brought on by ill tempered passion,

Though surely, I would gladly trade,

Every breath,

Every beat of my heart,

That my child may have lived,

Our child,

For the capacity, with love tendered,

Would have rendered a cherished gift,

Treasure,

To behold,

As surely, I would have,

In addition, indeed venerate at this moment of delicious torment.

Those words,

Sweet when softly spoken,

Inside a darkened room,

Forbearing this brooding sentience,

Sentence,

Life,

Death,

As the decision made,

Not by me,

Had no other choice,

No other choice,

But to stand back and watch,

A further demise,

Like Icarus, I had flown,

Too close to the sun of my own realizations,

Be careful what you wish for,

As the hidden truths of majority rule,

Are nothing but the illusion,

Of allusion,

Creed of dissent,

My voice drowned out,

My will denied,

As a piece of me died,

Dies,

Once more,

Again,

Confronted,

By the defeat of necessity,

Necessity,

Not necessarily so,

But the weakness of temptation,

Insane,

Leads down a path more taken,

Rather than the one which makes all the difference,

Would have,

Could have,

Should have,

Priorities checked and unchecked,

Crushed,

By the iniquity of my own acquiescence,

Though nothing could be done,

Nothing.

Vacuous apologies,

Masking terribly this gloomy sorrow,

Meek,

Sorry is not the hardest thing to say,

It is the hardest thing to realize,

For even in these words,

This expression of endless grief,

I know what I have done,

What we have done,

To what I have been a party,

To what we two caused, both in love and in lust,

Deceived by youthful exuberance,

Guilty,

Blood on my hands,

My own,

Our own,

That of our child,

Desired,

Yet,

Determined resilience to a lifetime concerned,

Whereby everything in that moment changed,

I remember,

Hmong Key,

The exact expression,

That you feared would be our demise,

Instead exposing my lifelong desires,

Deftly engaged,

For months,

Until hell hath no fury,

Like cultural mores,

And the stink of corroding flesh,

The die already cast,

Our own,

I remember,

I remember,

I remember,

Now lost inside the strain and sorrow,

Of knowing,

Tomorrow,

Tomorrow and tomorrow,

Was taken not just from you or I,

But the beautiful bright eyes,

Of the life we destroyed,

Sorry just does not seem to be enough,

Not for me,

Not now,

Not here,

With the advent of a child,

Torn from my longing desires,

Now in passionate retreat,

Sorry will never be enough,

Not for me,

Not,

Ever.

SDM

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