Category: Writers Block
What agony! What ecstasy! I feel it in my heart tonight. It doesn’t die, it doesn’t want to live. But on it goes, living. Who the hell put this in my being? Who was the cruel implanter that doomed my earthly life?
Hey, but wait a minute! Let me ask you this. Does maternal care infect the springs flowing from an infant’s innocent soul? Or where does love come from? Tell me so that I’ll hack at its root with my sharpened blade.
Oh, so you wanna know why? Why am I saying this? Okay, I’ll tell you: Because I’m angry at love tonight for its unyielding stranglehold. For its brutal and merciless tampering with my will, with my peace, with my god damn planning, with every damn thing!
Love must die! Love must die!
Damn, but I know it won’t. I know it can’t. Shoot! You really wanna know what love is? I’ll tell you then. I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll put on the tender robe of love’s spirit and, I warn you now, don’t be afraid of hearing a man pour out his heart to release what’s truly living deep within his being, for that is what I’m about to do.
I hate love. And I hate love because it is the source of all my misery, the damn producer of agony and ecstasy.
You see, love was there at work within me even before I had the chance to ask it to dwell within my heart. And, oh yeah, you know what else? It was there all betrayed yet hopeful when my mother slapped me bloody for the first time, and it was there all betrayed yet hopeful when my father broke a beer bottle on my shoulder blade. Ha! How you liking love so far? I’ll tell you all about it.
Love was there when my best friend’s life convulsed right outa his body as he shook in my arms with a bullet hole in his throat. Love was there when I, an eleven year old innocent boy, asked that hooker to come home with me to keep her outa the rain. Love was there when I saw those two suicides being pulled outa the car all pale and stiff. Love was there, damn it, love was there when I pretended not to know my old man as he staggered off the public bus all loaded. Yeah, let’s hear it for love! Ha! Alright! Yeah!
Love was there at all times to comfort me, to sing aloud to me and rock me softly in the deep blue and purple shadows of this ghetto. It shone like little flames against a black beautiful sky, a sky that till this day never tore to let spew a ray of sun. What is a sun? Ha! Those little flames sure did warm me up though, and helped me read my friends’ tags, the ones that made them famous.
Oh yeah, I’m forgetting all about love. We can’t go and do that now can we? Heaven forbid!
Again, love was there to comfort me when my sister came home all bruised with her blouse torn and asked for my help. Love was there my dear friends, to whisper its soft and tender words of care when I heard of a third childhood friend’s homicide. Damn it was there all beautiful and lovely, you should’ve seen it! It once even cradled me when I walked into a library bathroom and found a druggy collapsed from an overdose. It cradled me in its tender arms, can you believe it? In its tender freaking arms! Ha! You would’ve smiled. Ah, it was so beautiful.
Love has always been there for me because I need to care. I need to care? Says who?
And from what my friends have told me, love has been there for them too. Can you imagine that, for them too? Wow! How amazing? Love is kind. Or is it first: love is patient. Love is, love is, love is, and on and on it goes, and bla bla bla. And whatever else they like to quote.
Love was there when I lost a beautiful young woman’s friendship; it was there to comfort me with its tender and soft stroking. It comforted me day in and day out just like a soft breeze blowing against my curtain. And it sent my entire soul scattering into the empty abyss, aimlessly into the abyss when it knew I longed for her. I lost her forever because love told me to care for her, to set her free and spare her innocence from the experiences of my gloomy life. Yes, I cared my friends.
Hey, love, have I ever told you how much I need you? I need for you to be there you know old friend, to remind me that I need to care the next time I run into a homeless and dying family. Or the next time I hear about a senseless tragedy, please be there to tell me that I need to care, okay? Tell me that I need to care when the next bomb is dropped. Please promise that you’ll be there. I can’t live without you. I need for you to whisper with that tender voice of yours the moment I’m dying that it’s all coming to an end. Please promise that you won’t fail me on that day. Oh love, I’m so in love with you. Life just couldn’t be the same without you! Be there to tell me all about it, love, even though I can’t do anything about the world’s agony, because that’s just how much I need you. Oh thank you! Thank you!
Is this a poem or what? What is it? Who knows and who cares? Okay, I'm done.
Must admit you certainly have a way with words and
Sad to say that much of what you've penned speaks... truth
Here are some late night / early morning musings Raskolnikov.
Technically speaking this is probably not a poem, lacking the illusions and similes usually present to define poetry.
However, this is a good out pouring of feeling, and, as c/g says, unfortunately true.
You definitely have a way with words Raskolnikov, and, perhaps, some anger management issues too. No, maybe it isn't anger management issues you have, but frustration with the way things are. Whatever it is, please keep writing it down, it's good for me to remember the days when I cared more, and to wish I still did, but glad I don't feel with such depth any more.
What started out to be an analysis of your writing has turned out to be a look at my own ideals: so you have been successful, and maybe this is a poem after all.
Bob
I love the way you write, really stream-of-conscieness, and yes, like CG said, unfortunately, a lot of what you said paints a cruel but realistic picture of the world.