Monday, June 20, 2005

Another Person, Another Pain, Another Day in Paradise

I feel filthy. Again.

Someone, somewhere shot an accusation at another that I cared for. Too much. It is something that I cannot bear. And here, thousands of miles away, my eyes fill with fire as I leap to defend the one who was probably wrong. It is all so ugly, how can anyone actually want to put oneself through all that chance of betrayal? It does not matter – the truth. The pain does. It is not fair to anyone, I know, but this is how I am. That I will not change, unless for myself. And in between it all, there is the Lament of the Addict - why do I choose to do this to myself?

Another Day in Paradise.
His eyes are livid,
I shrink back from the force of his fury,
His hand makes rapid chopping jerking motions,
Loosening the tie to shout the better
While the other hand gesticulates.

Five feet is too close,
This shouting fest is heard three doors down,
I cower in the shame of being an object,
As accusation fly my way everyday,
While silence holds me in thrall.

He’s at it again,
This scene is repeated far too often,
At all times of the day and night I feel
His scathing gaze and jealous voice,
While I search ever for escape.

No physical violence,
Only the greed and arrogance of the Owner
Strips me to my tiny shell of no confidence
Strange how powerful he is in faded grey pyjamas.
While they say, silence is assent.

It is selfish of me – for that other did not ask me to feel angry for her. I am driven beyond what one can expect for those I give more than I should. And there are others to whom I have nothing to give. You can only transfer credits to countries that have banks, not to those whose system is so alien one cannot understand it even if one wished. And still others I hold back from, after all, I have too many weaknesses already. And another soft spot in my armour will not help me any. Not now, and not ever.

Dreamer (my Muse) comes to my rescue again, with another picture in my mind. I am at peace again, for a short while. Until this happens again.

Cookie Jar Light
His fat short fingers were in the cookie jar
Though I looked for beauty wide and far
His round stubborn face with a little grin
That beam of his, it always wins.

This little child with the soft brown curls
His skin in twilight had the sheen of pearls
The world was caught in his little fist
He gazed into the shadows and the mist.

Slowly as the heavy air cleared,
Though ‘twas the night of darkness and fear,
The garden was lit up, beauty unmarred
That cookie-jar smile was the light of stars.


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