The Artist’s Tears

I'm a poet with a dried up pen.
A picture taker with a broken lens.
An actor with no lines to say.
An artist from another day.

I've lived a life not my own.
A reincarnated poet from a time unknown.
My body home to many artists souls
Still trying to be born.

I need to draw, I need to write.
Too many thoughts cloud my light.
Mere focus is not mine tonight,
No one artist can find the light.

Those nights to years
And decades passed.
The artist's tears
come home at last.

Why God? Seriously... WTF?

I came into this world with an old, worn out soul
that was paired with a battle scarred heart.
I didn't know who you were back then
but I sensed you had my back, from the start.

I was pushed around.
Bounced around.
Pounded around.
Only you held me. You were my ground.

So many times, throughout my five decades,
I look at events and see your grace at work.
But this last decade, I can't feel you anymore.
What the fuck God? You can be such a jerk.

Why save me, watch over me, all those years
only to abandon me in the end.
Is it that I've served your purpose?
Am I of no use to you anymore?
I feel betrayed. I thought you were my friend.

I Try to Pray

My burdens are so heavy.
There are moments I can't cope.
I try to pray, I try to believe.
I try to reach for promised Hope.

Then I hear of others,
Who's burdens bring me shame.
That I should pray for some relief
from a life others see as gain.

Sentiments

Driving, driving, driving.
The wheels go 'round and 'round.
It's a life I'm barely surviving.
Soon I'll be underground.

I smile nice.
A warm handshake.
To hollow eyes.
Sentiments fake.

Love is?

Almost six decades behind me and I'm still wondering what love really is,
IF it really is.
It seems each time I think I 'get it',
I just end up more confused than ever.

So maybe love doesn't exist?
But even as I write that I know it's wrong.
Though I don't know why I know it's wrong.
Just a knowing, a faith.

I suppose, like a faith in God.
I know he/she/it exists.
But I've no proof I can point to.
It's just a knowing. A feeling. A sixth sense.

That's like love.
Maybe that's why they say God is love.
Anyway, maybe give it another decade and I'll have the answer.
Maybe not. Probably not. Ya, definitely not.

Be Kind

Whatever kind of world we create for ourselves, we also create for others.

Let us be mindful of our creations. Create beauty. Create goodness. Create Peace.

Be kind.

Mind Your Creation

Be hate, and you encounter hate.
Be love and you encounter love.
Be darkness, and you attract more darkness.
Be light, and you attract more light.

Whatever world you are creating for yourself,
you are creating for others.
Be mindful of your creations.
Create beauty. Create goodness.

Create Peace.

Be kind.

This Curse of Alone

This weight is heavy.

This heart of mine.

The burden of lonely.

The wastage of time.

I need to run.

I need to hide.

Slow down my tears.

To a gentler tide.

But life is cruel.

More than not fair.

Need someone to love.

Need someone to care.

When will it end?

This curse of alone.

Find me a love.

Find me a home.

Hurt Me if You Can

Some hurts don't go away.

They start bad, and they stay bad.

You don't learn to live with the pain. Ever.

You live with it because you have to...period.

Staying alive is the only thing that triumphs over some hurts.

So you live. Not through it but with it.

Every minute of every hour of every day.

The hurt is always there.

It becomes your comfort.

You hurt and you know you are alive.

You know you have beat the hurt.

You know you can live in spite of it.

You know you are better because of it.

You know hurt and you know you are stronger. Invincible.

So go ahead. Take your best shot.
Hurt me if you can.