You Part IV: Ducere me in LucemMature

I was born and raised by nature

Birds guiding my heart towards deliverance

Consumed by rage like a nightingale in a cage

My heart tore in two at my own inner pain

 

All I could see were her eyes

Caught in the moment of regret for the boy she left behind

“Wake up dead boy.”

 

We live in every moment that defines us

I see the path before me

Stretched out like watercolors on a canvas of dead breaking skin

The cracks hide clear truths that my Father hath laid for me

And hidden is the path He hath borne for me

 

I see the beginning of the new age dawn while He bids me welcome.

I see the outcome of my trust laid before Him

I see where I am going, what I am doing

 

But before me lies the slobbering darkness

Where you stand gazing silent

And I stare transfixed at your gleaming eyes

 

The moon’s light cascades around us

The girl I haven’t met and I

Long journey ahead for those who are waking up

 

“Dead Boy”

 

Staring at the moon, her tune is the same as it ever was

 

“Ducere me in lucem
Liberare me a tenebris, salva me”

 

The path you choose to lead consumes all that shall ever be

Future unknown though shared by two bitter souls with holes in their soles that burned through

Is your passion still there or do you even care?

Bright is the path up ahead and

Dead is the mind you fought to hold,

“Poster after poster after printed photograph of someone you don’t know but wish you did”

Boy of wonder and strife for writing is his life

 

“Ducere me in lucem
Liberare me a tenebris, salva me”

 

But you, you still inspire me

 

To philosophize is to learn how to die

To love is to learn how to philosophize a lie

 

You sit here writing poems and stories and everyfuckingthingelsefor ONE person, maybe two, three at the most, but what the fuck Damien?  They won’t notice until later, when you’ve left this and everyone behind because everyone copies everyone else and there’s no originality among writers darling.

 

A year later:

 

You’re still staring at this fucking beautiful piece like it’s some hidden truth come to life.  Someone has captured your essence in 1,679 words! And there’s so much to say, really

 

A c k n o w l e d g e the one you hurt.  No, because it gives her attention, and this is to the muse, the muse of a million plus words.  Alright, one acknowledgment, and that’s all

 

If I’m a constellation, it’s to guide the other lost souls back home.

 

Now that that’s out of the way you can get back to writing your poetry that isn’t really poetry but is.  Nobody defined it, did they?

 

Interesting…

 

So you do a collab with a friend who’s also your fucking muse and the one that started everything, but that wasn’t enough was it.  You had to get the attention of the others who sparked you the way your friend did, but they never came to the tea party Alice!

 

So what now?  You want to quit, sure, and maybe, just maybe you will, but not yet, not now.  Not now.  After all, reading that fucking poem for the fifty thousandth time has reenergized you like you never left in the first place.

 

You want to be featured on a site that never really mattered to you, because people are WATCHING now.  Yes they are actually READING your work and craving more.  From you, the cripple, the man who hates his choices HE made.

 

But there weren’t many choices to make, were there?  Wal-Mart, McDonalds, Burger King, Subway, or working with people when you have a short temper and can’t stand stupidity.  So you chose a career to do what you wanted after 4:30.  You chose something you could turn off after 4:30, so you wouldn’t be your –

 

Interesting…

 

It’s so hard for you to say the word, isn’t it?  You’d rather not acknowledge him, so –

 

A c k n o w l e d g e him damnit!

 

You love your father but fear who he has become.  To you, he’s a lost shell of a man and if he ever fucking read this, you would be in a psychologist’s office right now, discussing “problems” you had that don’t exist.  You just want your father, to be just that.

 

D…..Dad.  He’s too busy though, isn’t he.

 

Too busy watching television to go to the city to eat lunch with you and mother, probably because he has to sit in the car for an hour, walk past people he doesn’t know, and actually enjoy himself when he’s there but no, television consumes his soul.

 

And while we’re on the subject, Mother.  Aw you don’t want to write all of this but you know it’s true.  You’re pissed off that you’ve worked so hard to get here, to graduate for the THIRD time, to do something with your life, and she’s going to be in New York City, while you’re here stuckinplace.

 

Stuckinplacestuckinplace.  The mantra of all whom you fell in love with, repeated by them all like birds.  Birds guiding your heart towards deliverance.  And your stuckinplacebecause?

 

Because they won’t teach you how to drive, because they’re terrified of you dying.  So you need your permit again, and you need that to get in the fucking car.  So many things you need, and yet don’t have.

 

God tells you to stay strong, to believe, but it’s hard, it's so fucking hard to believe when your stuckinplace.  Isn’t it? So read “a fucking psalm” from the religion you believe in.  That’ll help, right?

 

“Ducere me in lucem
Liberare me a tenebris, salva me”

 

Everyone else is writing writing writing, while you’re suffering to put words in places they belong (on the page).  So you return to that hidden truth laid bare by your muse, and it goes full circle, doesn’t it?

 

That’s what it comes down to, being interesting

 

No, being noticed.  You want to be noticed but you also know

She probably stopped writing because you did

“You want to mean something to someone who isn’t yourself,

Because, really,

Even you don’t want you.”

The words hit you like a bullet, because in a sense, they are you incarnate.  And so you conclude though it feels like too soon.

 

You want to mean something to someone who isn’t yourself, but really, truly:

 

You always have, by always being you.

So you take those first steps toward her.  A dream once told you

“Take a chance to see my daughter”

And you’ve decided your path, haven’t you?  Taking that chance, and saying “No matter where it leads, soon to home, I shall be.”

This is your calling.  This is your life.

Embrace it.

The End

41 comments about this work Feed