Friday, May 9, 2014

Young Soldier - Empty and Void

He came home from the war empty and void, with no concern. He moved as hidden space, devouring Jack Daniel’s and Quaaludes. His mind was lost.
I marched out at the head of the line to help. Behind me came six others, his wife Helen, Officer Jones, Sister Mary, Father McCarty, and his parents   John and Marie. We wore the faces of gloom, tired and worn streaks were etched in our brows. When did we give up? What could we do but wait. He had sucked every ounce of humanity from our bones, we had finally given in. He was now doomed to die as he wished, empty and void without regard.
No one really cared anymore, he would fertilize the earth, and so be it.
God, we wanted to do more. How did we ever decide to give up? How could it be possible that there could exist a human without hope, lost and void of possibilities? Never in our life had we ever met such a completely void sack of bones.
We let him walk away, we were dumbfounded, and we had poured humanity into an abyss, leaving us tired and blank. We had lost to an empty shell of a man. He may still be walking somewhere absorbing goodwill from gentle creatures and walking away in his stupor of void, leaving of trail of people that wanted to help.
If the world would all perish and I would be standing untouched, I would not shed a tear.
My callus shell would just stand alone. My aura would be all I had to keep me warm.
What selfish warmth?
Such a strange world I have placed myself in? An egotistical martyr, with only a mirror to keep me warm.
There is a mind that does not understand, standing in the corner, out of the way. Looking and searching for answers. Toes turned in, in a shy poise. Waiting for someone to give them the time. There's Johnny by the chairs, broom and dust pan in hand, picking up the pieces of someone else's broken heart.


No Place to Be 

The lonely place, the place without thought. 
The closest place to death, no reality. 
Without light or ego. 
Alone without being, no bliss, near death,
 understanding nothing, white or black.
 No colors to paint or see, no depth or void. 
No awareness or imagination. 
No being to comfort or hate. 
The lonely place. 
No words to even comfort our awareness. 
Blank not even black. 
No place to be.

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