The Beaten Children

REAL LIFE PLAYERS: Me & my brother, Jonie (I do not remember her mother's name.), David, Robert, Greta, Michelle (brothers & sisters) - Mother = Dolores, Darlene (cousin to the above) RIP Darlene - Mother = Joanne (sister to Dolores), Howard & Regina (brother and sister) - Mother = Helen
In silent recesses, I look back
Much of what I thought to be reality
And the horrors experienced during childhood
Have been confirmed
These were not things I made up
But through the eyes of a seven year-old
What is clarity?
Can one really remember the experience?
Sometimes I wonder if it was a nightmare as
Child abuse is unsettling
Yet it gives me peace knowing the gun was not pointed at me
The chains, belts, threats of murder, and repeated beatings
Look narrow in comparison
As she was not my mother
Only now have I been made aware of her illness
The woman at whose hands showed no mercy
Hated children
Why was she allowed to take in so many?
Why did one (Darlene) die at age two? (Actually, she was murdered by her mother and her mother's boyfriend.)
Perhaps she was spared
It is we the survivors who bear the inner scars
It is we who cannot explain to those who have not known
That which lies within and causes fear - 8/27/06

The Perverse Poet

What madness instills itself within my mind
Posing threats to my very existence
Biting off sanity for lesser consequence
Thought wields a baton like a ceremonial majorette
Never ceasing it's march in down-trodden rhythm
It's loud stomping feet drown echoes
Of silence disturbed as unguarded
Willows weep and faceless flowers bow
Never again to seek the sun
Escaping...
Hatchways close and lock
Although the turning of the keys are visible
The visibility of hand escapes me
Corridors are excessive and confusing
Paths are continuous and forked
Tis not a bridle path, but more so a thorned row
Riddled with inescapable lash and backlash
Scarring and impregnating with brine pricks
Inflicting greater pain to soft tissue marred
Although squamous torn
In its depth it festers and oozes life - 8/27/06

Hollow

Defined sadness dwells within and upon me
Like an anchor whose weight cannot be proportioned
To create a fine balance
Frustration and unfulfilled dreams
Leave me weary as I feel incapable of success
Not knowing that which I need to know
Drains me
And I am hollow
Maddening nature flee from me and rid me of my heart
Face burned by lava like tears etching stains
That cannot be removed
Nay the erosion cannot be seen by thee
Nor shall I allow that specter visibility
Attempts will be made to keep that which crashes like waves
Upon the barren shores
In a storm unlike no other
Contained within and not seeking refuge
Self-contempt lies at failure
As I do not see realization
My spirit dies in the hollow depths
Of my self-created hell - 8/27/06

Complexity

Fire is something that burns
Being one of the four elements, fire possesses great power
It can be cleansing in that it creates new growth such as land sees after a volcano's eruption or
After a forest fire
However, the burning of desire for one stunts the growth for that of others
This is not seen as a bad thing
Yet what is it that puts this fire to rest? AND
Does it actually ever get put to rest?
Does one want it put to rest?
It is after all a driving force
Passion is a strong emotion
An emotion that defies quantitive measurement
Therefore, how does one express that which there are no words for?
Maybe some things defy expression and justification because they are what they are
Components of a being are quite complex
To say that one thing is liked above all else within someone
Does not quite overlook all that is connected to them
As the component is a fraction of the whole
Acceptance is made for part and parcel
Complexity may be frustrating to sort out, but one can have a blast trying
And yet never figure it out at all
It sounds like that is what can keep something very interesting
Ah the wonderful and never ending exploration of an individual and their vastness of mind
Arachne - 8/18/06

The Value of Human Life

How meaningful is our lives? What impact have we made and if an impact was made, who was affected by it? How many were affected by it? Can they be named? If we were to disappear off the plant, would we be missed and for how long? Can it be said that we have left something of ourselves behind? If so, what might that be? Would it be tangible or intangible? What is the value of human life? Who places the value on that life and what are its ceilings and floors? How would things differ if we had never been born? "It's A Wonderful Life" starring Jimmy Stewart gave us an example of a man who helped others and made a difference even though he did not view them as major works. How do our lives fair up in comparison? What have we done? What have we yet to do?

This is just a reflection of thought on what it will be like when we leave this world or what it would be like had we never been born. Who has taken a personal inventory here? If so what can you tell me? - August 7, 2006

Exploration of Skin

Lying on my side, I am in a dream
Yet his hands are felt as they touch my skin
Starting from my legs, he works his way upward
Although my mind is in a dream,
The touch is breaking trough and awakening me
Distantly, I hear moans escape from my throat
The longing for more is excessive
The need to be touched in secret places is greater
His strong hands has reach my hip and he rubs it sweetly
Slowly, his hands creep towards my tummy
The rubbing of my lower tummy
Causes me to roll onto my back
Allowing for greater exploration
Although totally conscious,
My eyes are closed and I await further exploration ~ 8/6/06