Beginning of the End

“I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
dirty-irish
Translucent skin showing the paths of life that will cease to flow
Blue and gray replace the young countenance and own the deterioration
Halting the movements of grace, becoming a lame gait of an ambling fall
This is the prognostication of our demise and the fate’s without escape
What’s left when the seasons change and we’re left without shelter?
The things leave and nothing’s left but an empty mind
Where are the riches spent entertaining the needs of vanities clients
The evaporation leaving only the crumbling idols built by youth

The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation

“Not all those who wander are lost.”
Some things were better lost than found.”
annasasylum

Lost is good, that’s when I find places that appear on the horizon of experience, places that are exciting, painful, and perhaps enlightening. Being lost and alone sounds terrible, but these are exciting lands and through wandering I pass by many old and tattered road signs that point out toward a different way. Beyond addiction’s sign, I see the detritus of the many who travel here strewn about and the bones of those who scarcely made the turn on that road before they died choking on the false hope of that distant city. Violence, that sign bears holes shot through with blame and anger against foes seen and unseen, real and surreal. Down that path I hear echos of private wars, fought more often in that travelers head, then on the road itself. Fame, this sign is hard to see, covered with thick strands of luck and persistence. Looking far down that road I see no one, I only hear crowds gathering and yelling praises at the swollen headed partakers of that way. I love to pass by those exits and the many crisscrossing and circuitous forked roads called psychiatry and religion. Bah, I turn my back on these and wander through my solitary confinement. It’s there I’m comfortable and being lost gives me a reason to go back over my favorite parts. Don’t feel sorry for me as you see my shambled figure shuffling, my face overgrown with disconcerting opinion. I’m happy here, but wait, would you like to share a cup of conversation, speaking without words over my fire? I didn’t think so, you have your eyes set on the exit signs…you’ll be back though, I’ll keep a light on for you.
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation
 Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Fallen Trees
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Aimless 
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Hounds  
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging 

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Life As A Human
041113

So Now I Float – Releasing the struggle of now

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
I swam, twisting about in this tumbling whirlpool of dead leaves and rotten wood, for days of nights and nights of days. With a mighty crash my world changed, as the breaking of one old tree led to a deafening splash in the darkened corner of my misty forest. Flying through the air, touching other less lively individuals, seeing sky, then earth, then sky, then earth again as I spiraled through quiet autumns air; I deftly floated, having lost the weight of my captivity with the ferocity of my extrication. The place of my landing was not as habit forming like my prior life, it being tumultuous and ever changing. My fellow flotsam rushed by with blurring speed, leaving me chasing them in the disappearing wakes. The journey is mine now, no other soul to see, with haste the pace brings the wonder about what will be, to what is now, and can never be changed. Taking caution by the hand, binding him with cords of excited decision, I tossed him aside. Only the rushing river and the changing seasons accompany me. Soon, I will find what I’m looking for, I’m just so tired of swimming, so now I float.

So Now I Float – Releasing the struggle of now

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
I swam, twisting about in this tumbling whirlpool of dead leaves and rotten wood, for days of nights and nights of days. With a mighty crash my world changed, as the breaking of one old tree led to a deafening splash in the darkened corner of my misty forest. Flying through the air, touching other less lively individuals, seeing sky, then earth, then sky, then earth again as I spiraled through quiet autumns air; I deftly floated, having lost the weight of my captivity with the ferocity of my extrication. The place of my landing was not as habit forming like my prior life, it being tumultuous and ever changing. My fellow flotsam rushed by with blurring speed, leaving me chasing them in the disappearing wakes. The journey is mine now, no other soul to see, with haste the pace brings the wonder about what will be, to what is now, and can never be changed. Taking caution by the hand, binding him with cords of excited decision, I tossed him aside. Only the rushing river and the changing seasons accompany me. Soon, I will find what I’m looking for, I’m just so tired of swimming, so now I float.

Before the Family Breaks

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” –  J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
 
 


Carried on the wind of misunderstood words,
Dark armies of thundering adversaries now descend.
Little ones scatter under lightning insults,
Hail threats, and driving strife. 
Not much resistance
Before the family breaks.

See the clouds huddled in poised formation. 

Only minutes until the downpour begins. 
No amount of preparing can handle 
The flood of anger, the torrent of rage
That woefully conspire
When the family breaks.

Look In the blowing wind of change and see

Two shelters still remain, grace and clan. 
Withstanding the maelstrom, 
They set up a refuge and inspire unity, 
Calling us to band together, 
Before the family breaks.