Tragedy

Tragedies come in many forms
Whether bulky or miniature in scale
They come to us through the evening news
Or through a neighbor’s juicy tale

Their shapes and lines are not the same
The edges may be downy or rough
Those involved can be numerous or only one…
a person screaming that this is enough.

There are tragedies that are evident-
If a child is damaged or harmed
By a brutal hand that strips from them
Their knowledge of trust and warmth

Tragedy is obvious when a child is left,
Abandoned by a vile occurrence
By a drunk driver that killed his parents
And all of the resulting circumstances.

When there is hunger in somebody eyes
Not for candy or something sweet
But for actual nourishing food do they search
Because they have only eaten bread for a week

When bellies are swollen in lands that seem far
Or medicine is unavailable to treat them
When people live without the things that we have
We are quick to see misfortune and feel pity for them

We call it a tragedy when scores are affected
By a plane crash, a hurricane, or a devastating fire
Whether resulting from terrorists or from carelessness
The calamity brings people outside to rebuild lives

But, what of the tragedies that occur each day
That people do not often speak of
What of the quiet and subtle things?
Those destroy things that dreams are built of

What of the man who allows his life
To be swallowed in pursuit of some dream
While never realizing that the ingredients for success
Reside within the boundaries of him

What of the woman who sits and thinks
That she is beings supporting and sacrificing
Never seeing that what she is building each day
Is a lesson of inadequacy to a child’s eyes



There is the tragedy of the child under the stairs
Who watches his mommy shudder and cry
As daddy comes home full of infidelity dreams
Mommy dries her tears and plasters on a smile

Perhaps the tragedy could be in a mother
Who never allows her children to learn
Not realizing that each time she fixes what is amiss
That she tears a piece from their sense of self-worth

That same mother may have a husband who patiently waits
For the day she will realize he is there and perceive him
And wretchedly that day never arrives
Until following his funeral she begins to glimpse her sins

What of those who lead unskillful lives
Never trying to cultivate their traditions
Being sublimely unconscious of the wreckage-
Who said that ignorance was bliss?

One might see tragedy in the life of almost
In the one who never gets off their seat
Someone who lets their body break down
Until it harbors disorder and disease

Or one could see the tragedy in a life
That never learned to slow down and be tranquil
Never finding the glory and splendor that is present
Presented only when the audience hushes and is still

What of the musician, writer, technician or athlete
Who has a passion and a gift for the craft
Yet never finds the ambition to look around and create
Or to use fervor to forge their own passage

The tragedies in other countries and on nightly news blurbs
Are worthy of attention and discussions on change
But how can people expect to influence peripheral things
While disregarding the tragedies going on in their veins

Prisoners

Are we not all in prison?
Confined by bars of various sizes and shapes
Are we not all in cages?
With claustrophobic locks of our own make-
Our bars could be flesh that traps us with disease
Or flesh that we have allowed to get insipid and weak
Our bars could be the cruel and judgmental ways
That another is viewing the things we create
Or the cultural bonds of what is right and correct
Or the insatiable worry of what will come next
Our bars could be literal and made of steel lines
That lock up a person for being of a criminal mind
The bars that encompass could be on the corner of the street
The kind that we use to drown our regrets and misdeeds
Or the bars of addictions over which we've lost control
That have crashed and destroyed ambitions and goals
Our bars could be fear that cripples and binds
Fear of humans, of creatures, of intellectual minds
Of the neighbor next door, or perhaps its his pets
Perhaps it is fear of his beliefs or fear he'll want to have sex
The bars that seem to be the most common and insidious kind
Are the ones that restrict the connection to one's inner divine

translucent lenses

a reflection in anothers eyes
can either show truth or compromise
regarding the image that originates
and if it is even slightly accurate
oh the value of a translucent friend
someone possessing innocent transparence
whose own shades of color and light
will not alter reflections of you in their eyes
For how better to find a snapshot of you
Then from someone who enjoys the view
Not out of naivete or simplistic denial
Or stemming from some disregard for your wiles
But out of a purity that is not often found
And is often annihalated by our cultural surrounds
What a refreshing breath of spring air
To look in their eyes and see the reflection there

uncertainty

Would I ever want to be sure
or can uncertainty be the more accurate guide
Can the knowing of one's not knowing
Provide the most precise of insights
Do we sometimes have to stand at the cliff
Or walk directly into the tide
Do we have to realize the wisdom in night
To identify which mountain to climb
As fear and darkness engulf us
distracting from our journey within
Can we look at doubts without prejudice
To get to the messages they carry with them
So really it may not be about being sure
About knowing without a doubt or a fear
But learning to look at the things they expose
And quieting down so their songs we can hear

My left or your left?

Is it even possible that there can be
A clarity tinged version of reality
That is not altered by perceptions or fear
by worry of what you think others will hear
or by worry of what you think others will say
or think as they look at you and then walk away
Can any set of eyes look at their surrounds
and not be deafened by their internal sounds
Seeing the world through experience shaped lenses
With all the information confused by five senses
Brains try to process and sort this all through
Emotions get stirred and logic tries to show its view
Where is this sixth sense, this compass of man
To cut through the thicket with clear, focused lashes
Creating a clearing to get a more precise vision
Of the road ahead with its twists and bends
Yet how does one expect to access this guide
Through distractions, detractions, and roaring of tides
This world does not offer many moments of silence
Moments to release our personal inner quiet
As life pulls us on roads that the noises have made
That fear of our own potential have helped to create
Is it not time to get our true self unlocked
To decide from that point which paths you should walk

Jillian and I are going to see if we can figure out how people can comment on this blog...let's see...

the ramblings of the lost and confused

How can I get through this...they say that people do.
Do they really, though? That would make me wonder
Did those that get through ever feel this much?
Did they know what it was like
To have time suspended
while in their lover's arms?
Did they know what it was like
To have their body respond
To a look from across the room?
Did they know what it was like
To feel anothers thoughts
To see the pain so deep in them
That you can feel the cuts?
Did they know what it was like
To dream of far off places
And then open your eyes and see them
Etched in your lover's face?
Could anyone possibly know
of slow and sweet and explosive passion
Of hands and mouths that know the other so well
That there are no words to capture the connection
Could anyone else really know what it is
to walk in silence and comfortable cadence
And know that the other's thoughts
While not exactly the same as your own
You know they dance in flawless rhythm.
Are there another two who have felt this?
This electricity charged pulsing of souls
This always wanting to be better for you and for them
And in their smile, you know that they know
Do any other two know
of safety and passion, of lusting and words
Sharing, exploring and seeing glorious new worlds.
Does anyone else know what its like
to fit with someone in all the right places
Then to have to cut these two apart
Because of surrounding faces.
Could anyone else possibly know
The depths of sorrow and fear and pain
To have to wake up and look into the eyes
Of an empty, bland world again
Great writers have said that its better
To have loved and lost than not to have loved
I cannot believe they felt the same as me
Or they wouldn't toss out fortune cookie words
For those who have got through this
I guess something worked for them
But I cannot see another side
To this dreary tunnel I am in
I might learn to disguise my pain
Wearing makeup to hide my scars
I will smile and laugh and it won't reach my eyes
I might even dress for this part.
For that is all it will be
A role I am playing
A mask I will keep in place
Why tear it off and expose what I've lost
To those who took it away
I'll be damned if I show someone else
The suffering that is cutting me
I'll be damned if I listen to false words and looks
Telling me this is not about me.
So precious were those powerful moments
That even in their death they'll be mine
Not ruined or cheapened by the empty faces
Who tell comforting lies.