The Goddess of Grief

They gathered in a circle. Sat in huddled groups. Some not wanting to speak. Some not able to. Some quietly asking what happened. Those are the ones who have just arrived. Some are weeping uncontrollably. Some sob quietly into handkerchiefs. Some are fighting the urge to cry. Some others are even struggling to keep a straight face, fighting to keep maniacal laughter within. Some are there only because they know. They don’t even know how they’re expected to behave.

But they all share in two things. The disbelief and the grief. The shatteringly solid, heavy certainty and finality of it. The cold black breeze has blown through this place.

She hasn’t come. Not entirely, anyway. She can’t stand it. Not so much. Not up so close. Besides, she knows precious few of those present. She wants to be there for those she does. But she knows it will break her. Still, she’s here. In part. She can’t not be. A ghost, a spectre, a wraith, a force, an energy. She’s projected herself to this place. She’s hovering above them. Called or uncalled, she’s there.

She begins to expand. Slowly, she’s spreading herself over everyone present. It doesn’t matter how thin. Wrapping herself around them. Enveloping them. Cloaking them. Shielding them. Absorbing their grief. She’s doing this to everyone who knows. To everyone she knows and everyone she doesn’t. Everyone who’s feeling pain. Everyone.

It stings. Burns her skin. Causes her unbearable, unimaginable pain. Physical, actual pain. She screams. It’s a hundred million screams in one. She’s taking all that grief, all that sorrow, and it’s in her head now. She feels. She is the grief of a thousand widows. The agony of a thousand tortured souls. Tears well up in her eyes. But she can’t afford them. Her demons don’t allow them.

They hound over her. Peer over her shoulders. Slither between her toes. Poke and prod her. Try to push her away from her destiny. Her divine role. They taunt her. Ask her what she hopes to achieve. How she can help those she can’t bear to look at. How they will never know that she was, is, or will ever be there.

And this stings even more. The serpent may as well have bitten her. A hundred times. The devil’s words pierce her flesh like thin paper. She bleeds. The demons may well have not noticed. She wants to scream. Shriek till she has no voice. And she’s about to. She’s on the edge of giving up.

And then it happens again. She feels their pain again. Their unwitting call. She knows she must go where that wind has been. And again, she forgets herself. And her demons. Again, she has gone. Again, her skin burns. And yet again, she screams.

Songbird

That hood, that scythe,

They’re for me.

I won’t let you take them,

Not even with a cherry.

This is not your calling,

Child of the Swan,

Song of Dusk,

This is not for you.

Broken Guitars

Shattered remains of a broken guitar.

Splinters I can’t put back in place.

Pieces don’t fit together,

I can’t mend you, my love.

I can’t fix what I myself broke,

Strings that now play this muted, ugly sound,

No longer reaching from end to end,

There isn’t enough glue in the world.

A blue guitar. Rosewood guitarist.

Disappointed. Demented. Distraught.

Want to see another break?

Hold me by the fretboard, snap off my headstock.

When Strings Break (For Eric)

The flower is open.

I can smell it.

Touch it.

See it.

I hear the song it plays.

There is nothing so beautiful in the world.

The flower smiles.

I see the joy in the smile.

And the pain in the eyes.

No one heard the song today.

No one knelt by to smell.

I bent down and touched it.

It quivers.

I hear the song again.

I sing along.

And then I see it.

The flower is held open.

There’s a delicate, invisible strand.

I can see it.

No one heard the song today.

I listened for it.

It was gone.

I hear a tiny sound.

The strand is gone.

The flower is closed.

I will stand by.

I will wait for the song.

The Writer

I wrote a destiny today.

It was beautiful.

It danced.

Swayed.

Turned.

Twisted.

Contorted.

Deformed.

I wrote my sister’s destiny today.

And I wrote it in blood.

My blood.

Blue on a Red page.

Green on turbulent Yellow.

A corruption.

Perversion.

I have trapped her.

She is in a pulsing,

Quivering prison.

The walls are slick, and

Painted Red.

The only way out

Is through a gaping hole.

The Prophecy

And so it began

The serpent slithered up his arm

And it rained as tears

The rivers were salt

The faithful have begun their wanderings

In the lands of their fathers

The faithless unite in silence

Driving the herd back

Into the safety of inaction.

Three Shots to The Brain

Three shots straight to the brain.

They say this stuff can knock out one of ‘em hippo-sized canaries that’ve been flying around in my neighbourhood … At least that’s what they said in the news… Oh wait, was that one in my head or on TV???? But that’s not the point… What is the point?? There’s a pencil on the table… no, no, that’s not it… Let’s think shall we??

OVERLOAD! OVERLOAD!

Full System Failure. Shutdown imminent. In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and whoop-da-dum-deedle-doo!

Reboot in 10, 15, 36, 3, 56, 9…. No, wait, that’s Windows copying my files… Shall we just start over?

Three shots straight to the brain. (That’s it!!!! That’s the point!!!)

Anyway. Coming back to the point.

Three shots to the brain. (Just how’d they get past my thick skull anyway?)

And they said one of these could knock out a rhino… Ha! Maybe one of them plastic ones that come free with the Cap’n Crunch… ooh, maybe one of them Animal Cracker Rhinos… Three of them, and I’m still up and running!! Or maybe I’m not and this is all in my head. But isn’t it s’posed to kill me or something vaguely dramatic like that? Besides, my ribs hurt, I dunno if that qualifies…

Oh, hang on a sec, Mary-Kate and Ashley on my ‘private line’ (know what I mean?)…

Hey babes!

Ya, sure we can hang! Though, with the two of you around, I won’t be hanging a lot, you know what I mean? Yeah, I’d like ta get Full House on you two…

Hello? Hey babes???? Um… Mer?? Ash??

Hehe… Ôla again li’l peeps… minor technical glitches there…

Do you guys know why I have this headache so bad? It’s like Barbara Streisand meets William Hung (remember the Chinese guy from American Idol two seasons back? Stiff dude singing “she bang she bang she move she move”) ya, that on steroids…

Anyway I gotta split… get it? Headache… Gotta ‘split’…

Aaargh! Never mind…

P.S.

Blame Frankie’s “fickle friend, the summer wind”.

The Vision

She stands, leaning in the frame of the door.

She looks at me, right then,

That look that says “I’ve got your number…”

The eyes squint, the eyebrows form that look of mock anger.

She starts moving forward slowly.

I feign fear, back away till I'm against the wall,

And she’s getting closer. Closer still. Oh God, so close…

She waves a finger from side to side. I see her lips form the sound,

Tsk tsk tsk… Hear it in my head;

Her hand brushes against mine. I shudder.

Goosebumps run down my arm and a chill down my neck.

I close my eyes and feel her touch inside me.

Then, slowly, suddenly, the touch is gone.

I open my eyes, startled. But she’s right there.

She looks at me, assurance bleeding into me.

With her eyes, she tells me to close mine, that it’s all right.

I do.

Every pore on every inch of skin is alive, alert.

Waiting, expecting her touch.

The hair rise in anticipation, my skin charged, eager.

I wait.

Eventually I open my eyes; she is gone.

Always

Death will support life.

Always.

The madmen will prance in circles.

Always.

The wise will be persecuted.

Always.

Hell will rain down upon the righteous.

Always.

The fools will prosper.

Always.

Alone

I thought I was alone,

Abandoned.

I was wrong.

Abandoned, yes, but not alone.

Evil is lurking.

Closer than I had ever imagined.

It stares at me,

Smiles,

Laughs,

Mocks,

Talks,

Argues.

And I play along.

I beg for its mercy,

Though I’m the one that has been wronged.

The evil laughs at me,

And does not forgive.

I am betrayed.

The knife tastes sweet,

Buried deep in my back.

Positioned carefully,

So that I can’t reach at it.

Here is one wound I cannot heal.

My closest stone is no longer mine.

Abandonment beckons me.

Strange faces offer to help me,

But I decline.

How ironic!

I would only have accepted

If the evil would have offered.

Silence is our companion,

Eyes upon us like a watchful mother.

Evil is my friend now.

And he loves me,

Like a brother;

Like a vulture loves a carcass.

I realize now I was right

The first time.

Even with the evil beside me,

I am alone.

Breathe

I breathe in

But the air escapes

Through the holes in my soul.

I’m gasping,

Struggling to live,

And then you save me.

I breathe you in,

But you are still outside me

Laughing, mocking,

Loving, hating,

I breathe in deeply,

Air suffocates me now.

The Wine Glass

I stare at the wine glass,

Transfixed.

The wine is rare,

I have never seen anything like it.

I hold it up against the light,

I can see through it

Yet it is solid

And I see nothing else

It pulls me into itself

I touch the glass

Uncertain, unsure

I lift it off the table,

Testily,

Afraid of snapping the stem,

Afraid of mixing blood-red wine

With wine-red blood.

The glass is now in my hand

I lift it towards me

I’ve seen others do this before,

Never done it myself

Thought about it, yes,

But never imagined it would happen

The glass is an inch from my face

I swirl the wine,

Sniffing

The aroma overpowers me

I close my eyes and sniff again

And this time it enters my head

Like it has a vengeance to fulfil

I’m a little heady already

I raise the glass to my lips now,

Anticipating the experience

Wondering, if what I thought

Is indeed how it will taste

I am pleasantly surprised.

I thought as it swirled around in my mouth

That I wouldn’t like it

Thought it might be too bitter

Not something for my palate

I thought I had sensed it all,

Thought I had seen

How it intoxicates a one

And again, I am surprised

As the taste kicks in

It is full bodied

A hint of flavour that eludes,

Yet stares you in the face

Demanding that you tell what it is

That you think you taste.

The flavour hesitates,

Holding back until the last moment

To really show you what it is like

I swallow,

Thinking it is over,

It can’t possibly get any better,

And then it hits me.

I blink in surprise,

The after-taste overpowering me

This is like nothing I had ever anticipated

I want to drink in more,

I want to keep this feeling going,

But the glass is shaking in my hand.

Unsteady, unsure if I can stay on my feet,

I slide back to the table,

Wanting to put it down.

As the glass reaches the table,

My hand shakes violently,

I’m afraid I will spill it all,

Afraid I will lose that flavour

To a stain that will never come off

Slowly, carefully,

The glass inches toward the table.

Delicately, it places itself on the surface

Dancing in the light.

Sunshine bounces of the deep red

Making it seem alive, afire

Almost mocking me,

Daring me to come closer.

Now it is the glass

That’s looking at me,

Sizing me up

Seeing what I almost mismanaged

I am convinced

I am not worthy

The glass is changing

I do not understand

The glass grows

But the wine remains the same

Filling less and less of the glass

Every time I look at it

But still, it seems to overflow.

I stare at the wine glass,

Transfixed.

Cliffs

I stand on a cliff,

I’m ready to plunge,

Though the canyon below

Seems to fade into the dark

I’m unafraid,

Yet terrified

I don’t know if I will reach

The bottom,

Or if I vanish into the nothingness

It almost calls to me

Asking if I will be tempted

So what if the pointed tail

Bothers you,

Ignore it,

There’s so much more to see

I’m on that cliff again

This time I don’t know what happens next

I stand there and wait for a sign,

But the jury seems to be out on my parade

I wonder

Will they ever come back in?

Can the magic hold back?

Will it ever be like this again?

Will the sky still be blue,

The sun yellow?

Can I go back to when

I could look straight at it

And not be burned?

Can I deal with the fact

That sweet might never be sweet?

That breathing might not seem like a privilege

But a sentence,

LIFE… hard labour… the third degree…

So many questions…

So many explanations still to come,

So many cliffs still to climb

So many ledges still to jump off

With nothing more than a blind hope

That my feet will land on clouds.

I’m on a new cliff today,

I’ve seen my share,

Jumped a few too…

Today I’m afraid,

Terrified, petrified,

I look down, and fear escapes me

The cliff that I stand on

Is disappearing

Waning

Crumbling under the weight

I have put on it

Yet I stand there, unafraid.

If not here, then nowhere.

This is my cliff.

Take it away, and you take away my life.

STANDING IN MOTION

Part Two

I’ve been standing in motion
I’ve started to run
But the wall jus fades away into the darkness
And I’m left chasin empty air
I’m sick of this runnin
I’m sick of the chase
I’m sick of the walls screamin
To keep me in my place
I don’t want no more of this runnin
I’m jus gonna sit right here
To see wat I can do
Wen I don’t really try that hard
And life now seems so simple
I jus take it as it comes
I don’t need to run anymore

I’ve been standin in motion
I see the door now
More clearly than ever before
Even though I no longer want it
It comes closer to me
There’s nothing I can do
Its almost upon me now
All I gotta do is
Get up and walk right thru
And I turn around to see
Those fools still tryin to run
Competin for the stupid badge,
The badge I’ve already won.

STANDING IN MOTION

Part One

I’ve been standing in motion

I try to walk but

The door only gets further away

I’m tired of walkin now

I jus wanna sit down and rest

But my feet keep movin

And the walls scream at me

Not to stop till I reach the end

Tell me how do I get there

When life jus goes on and on

And every time u think u got something

Something new comes up

And u gotta get back in the chase

The hunt for that elusive badge

To pin on your chest for the world to see

Wat a brave and wonderful boy you’ve been

But the world doesn’t care wat u did

To get it in the first place

I’ve been standing in motion

I try to walk but

The passage jus gets longer and longer

Im tired of walkin now

So should I jus sit down to rest

The world would b a nicer place

If we all jus sat down

And let time do its thing

But we, the eternal meddlers,

We gotta stick our nose where it don’t belong

We gotta try to take things in our own hands

How long’s this illusion gonna last!