Saturday, September 17, 2016

From my notebook and some from my heart

Beautiful words
Like a remedy
Appease the hunger for something greater
For a purpose, an escape
The answer to every question
A reason

To understand the life of those transcended
To touch the work, read the musics, but never know the mind

Of those so tortured
Who could paint and write and speak beauty into existence
Despite the tumult within
Their means of expression
Now our prized remnants
Of a storied time through rose colored glasses

It is never said that the true marvel
The deeper meaning of a work
That takes the breath
Is that the message still so clear today
Was carved in an act of expression
By someone who felt too much


This week is National Suicide Prevention week. As someone on borrowed time, I want the message of hope to reach as far as it can. Please help by donating, volunteering, sharing, and simply being open to help.
For resources please check out-
TWOHA-     NAMI-            


When you are tired
And the waters are rising

When you have tried for so long not to feel
To shut out sadness, fear, and desolation
But found when you were done
That you could not banish emptiness

When you have fought for countless years
But still the enemy is at the gates
If you feel you have no hope
And no more fight left to give
As a last testament to who you were

And I promise you
There are those of us,
Though our number is sometimes small
That know the sound
Who have voiced the same anguish
And love you enough
To listen

We will take your hand
Though it may be all you can do
To break the surface

We will swim with you
To where the pull is not so strong
We will keep you afloat

So at your last
Please remember to reach.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Old things with too many words

A Bitter End in the Following Sea
Saturday, October 01, 2011

Pay the ferryman when I die,
For I am inclined to be rowed to depths uncharted.

Out of pure speculation I'm sure we will find,
Many men proved wrong by what lies beyond.

Where does one go, when the mind is gone?
And the eyes are blank, and the face is wan.
But the heart, it still beats, and ties us to the ground.
When we die, and the sever is tied, are we nothing?

What is the reason for dreams of fantasy?
A tantalizing offer of lands that cannot be reached.

Dreams that we deem hallucinations of insanity
May quite well be a map of life beyond reality.

Will the shores on which our dutiful boats lay
When we finally run aground
Lead to our old familiar haunts,
Our childs' play, long forgot?