Tag Archives: sorry

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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Any Day Now

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3P9I-2lPGo]
The nightmares came,
And now they come again,
Again,
Two of them,
In rapid succession,
Sometimes for days,
Sometimes for weeks,
This year for months,
As the brisk November air,
Is greeted by the cool summer breeze,
Beyond belief reminding me of that sullen day in Detroit,
As sub tropical realities break through,
And painful decisions do recoil.
Torture quelling any thought other than you, as I tortured you,
As both cruel and unusual punishment,
For what did you do?
What did you do?

N O T H I N G

Your existence enough to cause your demise,
That knowledge stays with me,
And again reminds me of what  I have done,
We?
WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Always has and always will,
Reminded of what power and money can do,
And people that truly don’t see,
Forest for the trees,
The misery of mental projections,
Internalized hellish trial,
Mine own,
Of my crime against humanity,
Against my own child,
C H I L D R E N,
Family?

So, so, so sorry am I,
Silent stalker of repressed emotions,
Those that I must endure,
For to do less would mean my own quietus,
The instant terror does not creep,
But leaps,
Inside my psyche and haunts my sleep,
Shaking my resolve as I awake,
The skeletons in my closet are not only proverbial,
Skeletons,
Abstractly literal,
The symbolism of this agony,
So overpowering I am assaulted,
As a domestic abuse that I conceded,
Robbing you of life, lives,
As I did,
I did,
You live on, frightfully, inside this mind,
Torn already into three parts,
I and I and I,
With a bids eye view of what an abortion looks like,
With a front row seat,
Apparent encores without bravos,
Gashes in this weary soul, reliving the pain of a broken heart,
My greatest aspirations, taken,
AGAIN,
Reliving time and again how it feels,
To watch the light of an unborn child,
Snubbed,
By my hand,
By my hand?
ME?

In surreal images, lurid, prurient,
Of your mother, running toward me,
Tears welling up in her eyes,
As her shrill and piercing screams,
Command that I look at you,
As she carry you,
Both of you covered in blood,
Running down the hall of that clinic,
Its institutional walls and discrete exterior,
So perfectly recorded in every detail,
That I could walk from Toronto with my eyes closed,
Having returned to the scene of the crime since our time,
A trip that I will never forget,
And have taken again,
Closing them now,
No good, for I am here,
The Mekong calling me,
I do look, my humanity demands it,
For even as I may try not to,
I lost more than my innocence that day,
And this one that follows,
And again,
I lost the gift of life, the power of it,
Taken away by over zealous parents,
Your mothers,
Family, friends and others,
Who despite our designs,
Instead decided that they knew better,
As time passes and I reflect,
Making the same mistakes,
On the events leading up to your demise,
I beat myself up,
Raising my head to the heavens;

“RELEASE ME…”

I embrace the raw emotions and feelings,
Knowing that I must experience this pain,
To account for the ill done against you,
And YOU,
That ill,
With a resonance that becomes master of my thoughts,
Divided, confused, scared, shocked, upset,
Berating, deflating, never abating,
For nothing would change,
Could change,
What we were forced to do,
What we chose to do,
What I said was all right,
Knowing that my solace will only arrive,
When I know your mother has again been with child,
And I too get to hold dear a child of my own,
I’m sorry,
An apology that seems vacuous now,
But it is true,
I am,
Sorry.

SORRY!

SDM

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The Epic Wrath of History Repeating

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdY-rywIWNE

 

I’m deeply sorry,
Muse,
Profoundly sorry in fact,
An assault, one of the most meaningful moments in your life,
And most difficult to be sure,
Decisions had to be made,

Life altering,
Moreover, I supported them,
(As I have before, swearing never again)
Support you,
(despite supposed convictions ostensibly negotiable)
I am sorry,
So deeply sorry that it hurts me,
Reopening gashes that I’d finally come to terms with,
You must understand,
At least try to,
This is not a reflection on you,
Rather, a realization of my current plight, and me.

You see,
I have served at the feet of others,
Others desire,
Others needs,
Others want,
Others every whim,
For I believed that was the very cornerstone of love,
Unconditional and without equivocation,
Though only now learning
The difference between giving in and of
Giving of me,
Giving in to the plague of necessity.

I, as you well know,
I am,
Shackled by a burdensome depression,
(one that your presence lifts me out of)
My all too frequently visiting professor of despair,
Tenured,
(held at bay when you are near)
My Black Dog,
Mightier than Cerberus and even more terrifying,
Do you get that? Can you?
This is not hyperbole or a platitude
Instead my daily truth,
Quarreling with the hounds of my mental hell,
A mind that has split in three,
A suffering I wish not on you,
Not even my worst enemy,
Of which I have none,
But if I did,
I would not wish this torment upon them,
For a weaker mind,
Less inclined to fight,
May slip to the other side,
A fear I live with daily,
A thought I have as routinely as you brush your teeth,
Bipolar realities of imaginative suggestion,
The prison cell of both my consciousness and sub consciousness,
The defense mechanism that my internal acumen affords,
A dim but still burning candle taunting me forward,
Chosen light.

Thoughts constantly slashing,
Crashing as if the sea on erosion torn rocks,
The passage of time reflected in their scars,
But my scars you cannot see,
And this new one so raw,
Blinded by temptation,
Forbidden and yet so very right,
I long for more, for you, but
My scars are the inner cuts and bullet wounds,
Of a mind run amuck,
Of experiences I cannot erase,
Memories I cannot purge.

Despite my attempts to explain this virtual hell,
Virtual to you,
Real to me,
Of time marching on,
Thirty-eight years have passed me by,
Twenty two of which I fought with a bottle,
Just to get some sleep,
Inside of me,
A clock,
Destiny’s fingerprints,
Force me to these words,
As shelter from the tempest,
Fighting the course of nature,
Begrudgingly I accept my plight.

And I fight,
Though less for me,
More for those that do not have this gift,
More for those that cannot express this torture,
For my soul,
Twisted and tangled,
By the struggle I face,
Head on,
Though not necessarily head up,
Cross checking me into the proverbial boards,
Of universal discord,
Even now,
As I write these words,
Of these ordeals, disorders and complexes,
(forced decisions that while responsible, STING, the most)
Are uncontrollably forcing my eyes into and out of focus,
Globus Hystericus,
Choking on my own cacophony,
Repeated tragic fate.

Can you imagine,
What I face each day,
In and out of focus,
While my mind, though torn, is like a laser,
Words the beam I use to propel myself from madness,
I know my destiny,
I know what providence has in store,
And as you may or may not know,
I feel that I am worth more dead than alive,
Imagine dealing with that thought, not once a day,
But once every few minutes,
A horrible feeling,
Again,
That no human being should have to face,
(one that I need not face alone because of your grace)
I must,
Face the truths of what I have done,
For what I know is outweighed by what I do not.

Yet,
This is my battle,
This is my fight,
This is my cross,
And I will endure,
Feeling that I had left it all behind,
Until history, in it’s cruelest dimension,
Has repeated itself,
A horror show for me,
Tragedy for you
And I am sorry,
So sorry as, this festering wound is
Reawakening my dormant darkness.

I will press on,
(loving you with continual support)
As I contemplate what it means,
Failed lover,
Failed father,
Protecting mutual self interest,
In the most selfless way,
Finding,
To be this writer,
This beautiful mind,
As Warrior Poet,
Beaten by the battle,
Still waging this interminable war.

In this time,
In this place,
Forced to realize,
That every burden,
For every person everywhere,
Is as challenging as my own,
Just different,
And I know I have saddled you,
And for that burden,
As lowly servant,
I fall to my knees and beg of you,
Accept these honesties and let us together move,
Forward as intended.

Just different,
For we all are unique,
Beautiful,
Though I am restless,
To once again reclaim my rightful mind,
(with your adoring eyes as guide)
Minding the truth,
That this fight is mine alone,
Therefore, I am profoundly sorry,
As my time,
Is now,
To dismantle this mind of mine,
Putting it back together,
In my image,
Therefore, I may press on,
For others,
For you,
And I am relieved you are by my side,
As I must stand,
In this moment,
For us,
Warrior Poet,
Giant of spirit,
And delicate Peter Pan,

Love;
My personal odyssey.

SDM

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