Tapestry of Tears
Poets of the Fall. Carnival of Rust.
I have tried to love
But the torrent of circumstance
Have faught me
I've tried to live
But distractions of thought
Have wrestled with my consciousness.
I have been so unhappy that happiness
Seems like a miniscule star deep in
The abyss of space.
Unable to hear the diminishing laughter.
People have said all they want about me,
But none of it matters a damn.
Tears have left my eyes enough to drown me in bubbling ambiguity.
Is there anything like happy ever after.
Only in romantic tales uttered by myth.
The darkness of the soul is only eclipsed
By the light of fragments of promises.
I gaze sympathetically toward the setting sun
A solitary inked black tear rolls precariously down my cheek
All around me hope sizzles like water on incandescent rock
Bubbles of humanity encase souls of frigid winter as the diversity of the landscape silently watches
Peripheral vision sees the hostility amidst the stammer of opposing forces
Good verses evil, light verses darkness hope verses despair
Encapsulated digitised the sun verses shadow
There is no love amongst us
Only bigotry hatred distrust
Roaming the streets blades held by immortalised youth
Death or life flashes like a far off star
Consequences like chess pieces upon the board of suspicious paranoia evaporates like morning mist
Staring eyes of deceit cast doubt upon the prevalence of truth
There is only war, desolation dispirited anger there is no love
Mankind the hostility amidst the beauty of this world
The pillage of resources, the rape of the forests the poisoning of the air, the soiling of the oceans
There is no regard for the world or the brotherhood of man
Race religion colour creed jealousy selfishness rule the minds of many
There is no love
All that we hold dear lies threatened by the inhumanity of humanity
And our demise will be of our own hands
There never was any love.
I am fully clothed,
Yet she undresses me with her thoughts.
I am drunk in it.
She is haunted by my seductive fragrance.
Speaking would be too simple.
I am not defined by my trauma. I am a human soul. I am a galaxy, but my trauma is not a black hole around which I orbit and will eventually be sucked into. No, I am a galaxy with dark matter, parts of me that are not alight with the fire in my eyes. But when you look at me, you will not see what is covered by the shadow, but instead what is illuminated. And those parts of me that are burning define me, not my dark matter. I am a galaxy, and I am a hundred times more stardust than dust swept under the rug.
Life is not an epic adventure,
it's a small hop to your death,
maybe you'll live for a hundred years,
but you'll be dead much longer,
everything you've seen,
everything you've done,
everything you've loved,
everything you've hated,
dissolved into the earth you're buried in,
an epitaph upon your rock,
your name inscribed to remind, not you,
someone of your loss,
a memory in someone else's head,
that you were once living, but now your dead,
your small insignificant life,
a hundred years after your death won't mean a thing,
unless your infamous or famous,
the life that cruises in between,
gets no recognition just a few tears at the end,
generations after your birth your forgotten,
an eternity after your death never mentioned,
your name recycled endlessly on,
faces change like a tapestry of evolution,
until your memory lives no more.
How deep is space, a vacuum of unfathomable barely unperceived limitless contemplation.
The "blackness" only punctuated by a tapestry of starlight.
Black holes swirling, sucking in galaxies, red stars flickering their dying embers as supernovas explode.
Space is expanding, the cosmos growing, our minds unable to conceive the enormity of its dimensions yet we all stare upwards expectantly hoping to understand its complexities.
Yet we understand each other less.
The enormity and beauty of the world
And cosmos fascinate us more than
The basic need to understand each other.
© 2019 Mark