As France mourns,
so does the world.
The sad truth is expose,
as men die in repose.
It’s a sad truth,
in the place we live,
when a coward with a gun,
fears a man with pen.
No holy warrior are you,
but a sad and ignorant fool.
Terrible vision distorts your view,
but the free will continue to rule.
Satire is not inspiration for murder.
Feeling alone feels worse with no alternative; the waves whispered misery.
When you remember,
your most favorite event,
your happiest times,
your fevered worries,
your trauma and pines,
what speed is it in?
Does it come without warning
in the slightest of moments,
at the peak of joy,
in the heat of pitch,
when no one is watching,
or do you share out loud?
I remember.
As a boy, I tried.
As a man, I tried harder.
As a memory, I hope to succeed.
No matter what speed you choose.
It’s pale lengths of furrowed fantasy grasp tight.
Recall;
recumbent.
As easy it is to forget,
remembering is harder.
For to forget is as natural
as it is to love.
But to be able to remember,
requires an ache.
An ache to carry on, to stop…
and to not repeat when doing so
would cause pain.
An ache to hold those near to us
against the light in our thoughts.
An ache to hang those we lost on the highest cloud,
and to look, and to smile.
An ache that burns deep inside,
one that we should welcome,
one that comes with creeping pain that,
at first,
is unwanted, but is necessary to
move on.
An ache that is tangible and ever-moving.
An ache that gives us the sight in the morning,
the reason to get up,
and the power to try again.
An ache that is less a thorn in our foot,
and more a feeling of contentment and contemplation.
An ache that follows us down a long, dark hall,
holding our hand,
whispering softly,
and guiding us away from our sorrow.
An ache is what we need
when we have nothing else.
An ache in our heart is what keeps us
Human.
Hold tight to your ache,
whatever it may be,
because once it’s gone,
no truth in this life
will endure to set you free.
As it was in the beginning,
as it will always be.
In the end,
the only thing that changes
is me.
No matter the smell,
sound, feeling or grasp,
even if the night
were to never last.
After glows,
lights,
laughs, and flax,
the you,
that you know now,
will be gone…
as quick as that.
So hold tight
to those you love,
and chide
those you hate.
Because when we
close our eyes,
one last time,
all we are is
earthworm bait.
Like a mating call:
The peeps and bleeps
of carrying teets,
and smiles and style
of hand and feet,
when once the world
made simply of sheets
held tight to us amidst
smells of heat, and
when our peds caress
the each, my heart and
head stand tense a peace,
for every time we whoop and jeep
no one hears, not even the sheep.
