Depression

November 26, 2014
Creative Writing, The Pointless Posts
Leave a comment

When you see yourself through the distorted lens of depression, you have trouble recognizing your own reflection. You can’t see the seam separating your normal self from the irrational being that calls you its host, and shows none of the courtesies a guest should uphold. The lines blur, and all that’s left is a pain that washes over your heart like a malevolent wave lapping upon your withered soul; a pulsating ache that ebbs with the ever-changing tide of humanity.

Swept Away

November 11, 2014
Creative Writing, Poetry
Leave a comment

His self-esteem lies in a fetid puddle

Staring up at him in longing

Wishing to restore its place.

He tries to cup it within his palms,

To drink and in turn reinvigorate.

Alas, like all things in his life

He grimly watched his salvation

Trickle slowly through stiff fingers

As though his skin turned to stone

And soon, his heart followed.

For swiftly the tears of regret

Flow like Neptune’s sea

From burning eyes,

Eroding his grip and

Withering away his heart,

All hope is swept away

With the ebbing tide.

Savior

November 3, 2014
Creative Writing, Poetry
Leave a comment

I met her at the crossroads.

She strode in like a pristine petal

Riding easy on a western breeze.

Strands of midnight flowed

Like shadows beneath a straw hat

Framing ethereal chestnut eyes

And a smile like Venus

Able to shatter any man’s guise.

The Absurd

October 31, 2014
Creative Writing, Poetry
Leave a comment

It would be unwise to decipher the ache in his heart.

So much so that he truly believes

If he were to dig down into the depths

To recall the origin of that wretched,

unwelcome, drowning sensation,

He would no longer have the strength

To climb out of that pitch black hole.

That he may be forced along Dante’s path

With no guide nor God to lead him safely.

For within those depths he will plunge, and

The path of the absurd waits hungrily at the crossroad.

The F-Word

October 17, 2014
Creative Writing, Poetry
Leave a comment

Fate is an unrelenting brute.

It’s never tempted by diversion

Or wise men with silver tongues

Forming hopeful hypotheses.

It’s simple though: Que sera, sera.

 

The young mother,

an abandoned lover,

has felt the cold steel

Of Fate’s unbiased blade

Gliding easily along her cheek

 

And perhaps the cackling clown

Sobs quietly in his room

After a standing ovation.

Remembering, all too well

Why his smile is simply a mask.

Hindsight’s Never Been So Blind

October 12, 2014
Creative Writing, Poetry
Leave a comment

Do I recite the name in hopes it will bring back that old sensation

When hope was in the air, and just that word could reincarnate

Every bit of splendor that we shared?

No.

All that’s left is the smudge in hindsight

The blur that fights for recognition,

When I’d really prefer,

It stay no more, or no less, than a tiny, insignificant blur