Outcast

Uniqua

my life is a riddle

that I have yet to unravel

an enigma of sorts

here and there, along the gravel

be yourself, they say

everyone else is taken.

but when I am armed with the courage,

when I am bold for my values

when I have strong held my ideals

then they have scoffed.

then they glare at me surreptitiously

there they eagerly dress me with scorn

I can never win I guess

victory was not my calling.

and every day from now til the end

is just another moment stalling.

the world inside my head is a-whirling

with all thoughts and reasonings twirling

I am never to be one of them,

it was written.

always longing for the solace in words

in company, in comfort..

but exiled to loneliness and

outcast in every season, all the same.

a fact of life,

whether out of spite or out of mockery

in a lame lost joke now forgotten..

and the truth is I couldn’t fake it,

not even at my best attempt

for love and kindness is a gift god-sent.

and my smile could never be cruel to those whom it’s lent;

and my words never insincere to those in whom I revel..

so if my warmth is my demise

if they fulfill my darkest fear

and well; this is just my surmise-

may I forever be from their company exempt.

The Tree

Such a sight to the eyes

grand majestic tree, standing tall

it would shock and stun them all

to see you one day fall

for you are strong, no? you are bold

you are set in your width,

you are stone, you are cold..

your branches reach the sky

in elegantly poised fingers

your aroma of self fulfillment

enriches the air, and there it lingers

but little do they know,

and never could they see

that the vacuum in your heart

makes you as hollow as can be

yes, with mold and fungi crawling,

you are but a rotting tree.

standing so erect, leaves shining bright

is all but a façade; a trick of simple light

what else can I compare you to?

a lost-soul magician?

with cheap tricks and quick hands

entirely masks his poor condition.

I pity you, tree..

for you are never fully content

pull a rabbit out of a hat,

(yes you are god’s gift heaven-sent)

but you can’t pull your heart out of the hole

you will never find the light,

like a ground-condemned mole..

You have enchanted your lot of mindless folk,

mouths agape, will surrendered

you have them secured in your power;

yet you retract your shade and smite

to those who don’t in your light and presence cower

You may have fooled them true;

if only for a season.

But rotting tree; I tell you this,

all happens for a reason.

your time is ebbing sure, like

dunes in a desert storm..

trapped in a world where fall gives way to winter

and the winds will whip your soul,

crashing down your poised branches

and when winter settles in,

your peace will be its toll

GT

Broken

the mind is a cruel place

inhabited by carnivores and beasts

eager to tear to shreds innocence and bliss

until all light of hope does cease

the catalyst to pull the trigger

is never notwithstanding, always fueled

ready to assemble an arsenal of doubt

exposing the games of the fooled

alas! the bravery takes hold,

if only for a raw and decisive flash;

and then just as sudden,

the clarity vanishes into air as ash..

the heart is  a treacherous thing,

for moments later it comes bombarding..

playing instruments out of tune

and a story of misery hardening.

as two giants, these two battle-

neither relenting, nor backing down

leaving behind an array of fragments;

memories  fallen from heaven to ground.

at last the war is subsiding,

every side admitting defeat-

for in a sequence of wrath and light

there’s no victory, filing and sweet.

only remains lay strewn,

and only illusions left un-mended;

just a scar hitherto, a wound under the surface

confirmation of truth

of what has all but bitterly ended..

GT

Persevere

Long live the lungs

that carry life within me

my  feet firmly planted on God’s soil

charging forward with me

the twin seeing glasses

that color my world anew

may the surface of my body

remain intact and stronger, too..

I take in the world,

one breath at a time

darkness and mildew, sunshine and love

one thing decays while another grows

the cycle of life this comes to show

pain pierces like icicles into our heart

time vanishes before us as  thief in the night

tearing apart, taking flight

and yet every day is a miracle

a sunrise we wish not miss

bliss is restored in the planting of a kiss

of a flower decorating a young girl’s wrist

of a dream yet unraveled

or a road not yet traveled

of discovery and hope,

of romance and muse

that grants us the power to cope.

darkness and mildew, sunshine and love

whatever life casts our way;

we can work through it with help from Above..

Shadowing Regrets

Sometimes the hardest truth

Is the one that shadows us forever

The one defines each path we take

That seals off plans and illusions

And the one we dream to whisk away

The one we seek to overcome in hopes

In aspirations sugar coated by perhaps

And what ifs.

Sometimes we wish to gaze in the future

But can only be tormented by the past

And today becomes a simple silent murmur

A vessel that carries a piece of us away

A piece of youth and a piece of life

A piece of pain and a piece of strife

Until there’s nothing left.

Here we lay lost inside

Slaves to only one action- forward

Deemed worthy by our efforts to haul

Our own shattered hearts and shards of memories

To a new awakening- a world recreated within

Without the anguish of self inflicted regret

Hoping one day to receive genuine reason to live. 

Heartbreak's Hold

There’s a deep welling ache within me

That with each rising hour inside spins me-

Catapulting my hope to a morrow unknown

Leaving me within misery – all alone.

I blame no one but myself- of course

To follow my heart although my mind implored

To let down my guard and open the gate.

Wounded again by another ingrate.

The wind carries promises but also demise

It floats with my past and the tears I’ve cried

It reminds me of how things always change

That life, my plans will always rearrange

Twisted paths of agony now I tread, now I saunter

For ignoring all signs ahead- for desiring to flaunter

What would suit me only in angelical dreams-

But forever exceed my grasp by living means.

Oh, I clothe myself with misery

As fallen leaves clothe each grave.

I cannot deem myself worthy of tomorrow

Or of finding a day without sorrow-

For to this heartbreak I am slave.

The Boy Who Sought Freedom

It was the thought that enlivened him, the idea that defined him, and the direction that gave him purpose. It was his daily bread; it was his blanket of warmth, and his rainbow after endless days of sameness.

Such was the life of Benjamin Thomas. In the long Wisconsin summers, when the sun gleamed above his head and the shadow cast against his favorite oak tree, he knew it was that time of day.

Trudging toward the house, the small frame of a boy of 12 crossed the savanna and entered the larger frame of the stoic yellow house.

“Benjamin! Good afternoon. It’s pork and sweet beans today!” said a deep, cheerful voice, that belonged to John, the cook.

Wordlessly, he sat at the wooden table and ate his meal.

“Boy, what is it that troubles you? “
“I’m not troubled, John. I just desire a future. I don’t want to be a slave boy forever. I don’t want to be someone’s pet- I want to have my own life, be like my father.”
If the cook was in any way slighted, his face showed no sign of it. He simply sighed and sat down next to the boy.
“You still think about that day, don’t you Benny?”
“Every single hour of every day, John. I have to do something to get out of here, to bring glory to my father’s name. What would he think of me if I lived my life as a slave boy?”
“Honor is in the work of the hands, boy. Honor is in integrity at every thing you do- not of possessions or servitude.” Replied the wise cook.
“Have you ever been anything but a cook?”
At this, the cook was silent. He rose from the table, turned midway, then faced Benjamin again.
“There’s cornbread I saved for you in the icebox.” And with those final words that clenched Benjamin’s heart strings, he left the kitchen.
Benjamin was left alone with his thoughts. Or perhaps in the vast company of them.
What does a cook know? Granted, he is a good man. But has he ever owned anything but a spatula and an apron?

Benjamin left the house, traveling across the open field to the barn. One by one, he checked the twenty five sheep, looking in ears, in belly buttons, in every crevice that malice could form. After tediously scrutinizing each one, he went to look for Rover, the faithful companion.
He was biting his old yellowing bone, in his usual spot, chewing in quiet tranquility.
“Rover! How are you old buddy?” Benjamin kneeled next to the aging brown dog and scratched his hanging ears. Rover closed one eye and with the other looked up lazily at Benjamin.
When Benjamin stood up, so did Rover, and off they ran to the oak tree.
Here, Benjamin sat, back to the tree, Rover on his lap.
The feeling of peace lasted only seconds as his memories flushed upon him at his closing his eyes. He smelled the sickening smoke. He felt the ashes fall upon his clothes. He could hear himself yelling out to the smoldering frame. Begging, beseeching the return of his parents. But the flames leapt even higher, and finally John had pulled him away.
The rest was history. After weeks of meager meals and scavenging for food, a family of wealthy Spaniards had collected them as part of their servitude. Benjamin lost all of his past life but the old knife that belonged to his father and John, the faithful cook.

Droplets of anguish and hopelessness had run down his face that burning day, and his eyes were closed, yet he could feel his cheeks become warm and the same droplets stream down his face.

Dusk closed in the same manner as always. Benjamin putting to bed every animal in the farm. Rover standing, sitting, laying beside him. Utterly exhausted, he carried himself to his small room shared with John and laid upon the hard cot.

The following day and the following years passed very much in the same succession. Benjamin working hard, Rover being a faithful companion, and John coaching him through life, providing care and direction. At times, Benjamin listened. At times, he carved his own path.

One by one the faithful companions disappeared. Time ravaged each one, and every year pulled at them until they were no more. For Rover, he cried, as he dug a little rectangular hole next to the oak tree.

When John passed away, a single tear stroked his cheek, and then he resolved to think no more of it.

On his 18th birthday, the Spaniards let him go. The day he had long awaited, was at last, at his doorstep. Putting his few possessions in a kerchief, he wrapped it around a staff and set out, stick on shoulder. The Spaniards wished him well, and fine people as they were, handed him $50 for his life of work.

Benjamin strode into town. But store clerk after store clerk, and carpenter after carpenter, turned down his offering of work.

“Boy, you can’t even read or handle money! We can’t help you.”
“Son, we can’t afford to train a man who can’t handle fine wood..”

Discouraged, he finally settled for a job as a shepherd. It was long, arduous, tiring work, caring for 400 sheep from dawn til dusk. He had no companion to sit by his side. His earnings were slim. Benjamin grew lonely.

Months later he met a young lady named Bethesda. As courtship goes, Benjamin won her heart, and they married. She was kind, but ever so poor. Soon after, Benjamin Thomas Jr. was born.

Benjamin looked upon his son. He held him close and kissed his forehead. But even though he felt joy, a larger well of despair was swallowing him whole.

“Benjamin, we don’t have any milk, and the baby needs food and clothing..” his worried wife told him. Night after restless night, he formulated plans to feed his family.

He sat at a haystack one day, peering out over the sheep.
“Honor is in the work of the hands boy..”
How could that be, John? Here I am almost a peasant and now I need care for a young son. My dreams of owning a comfortable home are thing of the past. Now I have to strive each day just to eat. What possessed me to think I could ever? Now this woman and this boy will pillage everything I am, will take my spoils and lean against my hard work, and I will perish with nothing to show for it, and nothing accomplished. My son will be another slave boy, and Bethesda...

Benjamin removed the old, battered knife from his trouser pocket. He felt the grooves on its handle. He closed his eyes again.

Oh Rover. If only you could be my companion now. If only John would be alive and if only I could taste that cornbread once again. Yet here I am, in the gallows of life. This isn’t freedom- this is just the opposite. This is misery. This is voluntary servitude, and one without recompense. I’m chained to a life I chose and regret, one I could never run from. My hands aren’t tied but I’m no less a slave. How I wish I could return to the years of being a farm hand on the Spaniard’s ranch..

The comfort he had always felt as a boy-it was that elusive freedom he sought desperately now. The freedom that was in every hard day’s accomplishment, in every meal John laid before him, in the company of his few loved friends. It was in the wagging of Rover’s tail. It was the sleepy look he gave Benjamin. It was running through the open fields and feeling the wind blow through his hair.  It was the sun’s caress as he toiled in the field. It was the shade of his favorite oak tree. It was his fulfilling sleep. The freedom that whisked away the day he left the ranch. Gone forever- like Rover, like John.

Benjamin cried bitterly.

For the remainder of his life, it was the thought that occupied and preoccupied his mind, it was the idea that pained him, it was the realization that ruined him- and consumed him whole.