Tag Archives: doubt

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I feel a detachment.

One so sharply edged, that I’m bleeding.

I feel a panic.

One so numbing, that I’m floating.

I feel a fear.

One so horrific, that I’m hiding.

I feel a confusion.

One so obliterating, that I’ve entered a delusion.

I feel an emptiness.

One so hollow, that any remaining feeling is simply the negative reverberations of my thoughts.

–

I see a void.

Yet, it’s all consuming.

I see colors.

Yet, they all fade to a grey scale.

I see flames.

Yet, it only lingers as ash.

I see a pillow.

Yet, it provides no comfort for my head…

only anguish.

–

I hear my own echo.

It’s haunting, and there’s a crew of spirits.

I hear a slow drip.

It’s an attempt at keeping the faucets of my ego from freezing.

I hear white noise.

It’s the only way I can stay sane.

–

I smell an overpoweringly nauseating aroma.

The one that makes you ill.

The one you can’t escape.

The one that can’t be cured.

Even time has to wait.

Once you’ve inhaled the suffering, you cannot forget it.

I smell morbidity.

The one that seizes your brain.

The one that turns joy to mold.

The one that crumbles to a shady blue in your hands.

Even wine won’t pair well.

Once you’ve inhaled the doubt, it becomes your captor.

–

I taste a bitterness,

but the longing for peace remains sweet.

The Gardener

Many years ago,

I had a garden.

It was exquisite,

it was nurtured;

and it was vast.

I became a masterful gardener.

From the placement of the seed

to the trimming of their leaves,

I studied and learned how to properly tend.

Sunflowers, tulips, and orchids

lined a winding path.

To one’s surprise,

they’d even find cacti, dahlias,

and roses,

all blended and alive.

I felt a sense of pride as I watched them grow, blossom, and even begin to die.

I knew they’d soon return,

the cycle would continue,

and there was simply not an end.

However, one day,

perhaps within minutes,

they all seemed to fall ill.

I did my best to help them,

to restore and see them rise once again.

That day never came.

All this time and beauty, wasted.

My vision went from a bright and beautiful color of hope

to a blackened blur of betrayal.

How? Why?

I left the garden, but still viewed it from my window.

The sun rose and fell, over and over again.

The moon provided an eerie silver glow upon the fields.

It appeared as a false shimmering gleam of hope,

of desire; of desperation.

I began to dread the night.

The ending of my day;

the battering reminder of what was

and what will never be.

I left my perch upon the window and drifted to the solace of another room.

One without a view.

I pondered what had happened,

many times.

A pest? A lack or oversupply of water?

Were my hands too tired?

Was my mind too empty?

Or had my heart shrunk a size too small?

I gave, and gave, and gave some more.

I did what I could.

I did my best.

I, I… I.

It was then I could pose the question…

Who tended to me?

It was I who stopped growing.

It was I who had been dying.

It was I who lost my way.

I thought I’d lost my garden,

but I had lost myself.

Slowly, I creep back to my window.

I give another look, or two.

I ask myself if I’m ready.

If I can bare the pain of growth and loss

yet again.

One day, when I feel whole,

I’ll plant a few seeds again.

One day, when the trust of reciprocation

feels present,

I’ll tend to my garden.

More importantly, I’ll tend to the gardener.

Safe House

I got a safe house,

and it’s not what you’d expect.

It’s made of paper,

and it’s hidden underneath my bed.

I got a safe house,

and it calls to me.

When I’m in the dark and all alone,

somehow it sparks a fire in my soul.

I got a safe house,

and it wraps its walls around me.

I’m on the sacred ground of poetry.

No lies, facades; it’s purity.

And when I’m at my lowest,

sinking down beneath the floor,

I ask God to come and save me,

but he gives me something more.

He gives me talent; He gives me a voice.

It may not come from my throat,

but it sure as hell speaks more.

Yeah, I got a safe house,

and I’ll camp out until the day is done.

I’m losing all my wars,

but the battles are always won.

Meet me at the safe house.

I’ll put the fire on.

We’ll get warm and settled,

and forget we are someone

who has doubts and problems.

Don’t worry, my safe house will solve them.

We’ll be okay,

in the arms of these words.

They’ll hold on and won’t let go

until we are ready and we know

that we can always come back

to the safe house.