There is a sad, humbling peace beneath the soft pain of realizing I am as helpless as the trees to prevent the age old forests from being torn down in one day for the filth stained greed that most others foolishly believe is a benefit to my species but we are not the same breed I am just another animal left homeless in the wreckage forced to watch the endless rape of our most holy mother earth as I tremble with the reeds bearing witness to the pain pulsating through all of nature is the only gesture I can offer to lie down alongside my fellow woodland creatures beneath the brutal, blood-soaked wheels of industry as we watch the death of beauty the end of everything
Small comfort in tiny hands you needed me to be someone so much better than I am The end of suffering can still be sad I wish I could have given you the life that you deserved Death always comes in winter when the ground is unforgiving I wanted to lay you to rest peacefully In the warm soil of summer when covering your small form wouldn't have felt so cruel May you finally find rest among the tangled roots snaking beneath the earth I try to save the best for last but my soul is overcast with the heavy burden of knowing Every ultimate end will be ugly each life closes in vicious stillness and the aching mystery of an empty vessel
Sorrow and Joy
Sorrow sticks to me with the tiny talons of woodland things clever velcro claws that trap and tear Joy is thick and sweet like dense droplets of oil that slip easily through the liquid membrane of my water-logged mind As if my soul were fine tuned to the piercing puncture wounds of even mild misfortunes but immune to the equally abundant presence of pleasure Cursed to carry the wrong container and collect only itching burs but not buoyant blessings regardless of the quantity of each that happen to come my way A cup for gratitude that has a crack or even worse, a burlap sack that can only attract and hold the heavy, solid moments that hurt while every drop of delight drips through A faulty, backward magnetic field that repels the currents that heal but quickly aligns with what's unpleasant the unnatural effort to help myself is more tiring than circling the drain
Forests that spent hundreds of years flourishing are flattened in a single day Construction sounds that keep me up at night from the new fracking site I can't bear to crest another hill and see a desolate dirt pile where there was once a green sea of leaves Cranes have pushed out the animals that once inhabited the dense forest barren landscapes replace all life Human destruction is so much faster than mother nature's graceful hands exponential progression toward the end
Sorrow rises like smoke from the ashes of a dying love it wiggles and writhes through the air mimicking my desperation to avoid to postpone these violent pangs of pain could things really be different should I reconsider this decision or am I just searching for relief from this reality I do not want which self should I trust the one that has been unsatisfied the one feeling frustration and misunderstanding or should I trust the self that feels this parting as a small death, as a gaping wound in the end I'm left wondering watching the fading embers with fear in my heart unsure of whether to keep watching or try to stoke that flame, that love that was once my life
I think it’s very interesting how many people I’ve heard say they don’t like change. I am one of them. Yet change is the only true constant in this world of ours. Without change none of us would even exist as we are. Just like with most things, it can be beautiful and also terrible. Just a few weeks ago I was quite excited about all the new changes that seemed to be happening in my life. Now as things continue to develop and change even further, I feel as though change is no longer a friend, but a bitter enemy.
At times like these I try to remind myself of all the changes in my life that initially felt unbearable, that ended up leading to some of my greatest joys. You can never really tell what even the smallest change may mean down the road. At the very least, it is an opportunity to practice letting go. Something I’ve never been very good at. I’m surprised my fingers are not just bloodied stumps from all the clinging I’ve done in my life.
One of the things I struggle with when facing an unpleasant change is whether or not to surrender to the sadness and pain that accompany it. I never know when I am just letting myself experience a healthy amount of painful emotions or when I am feeding those same emotions. Surely it isn’t healthy to turn away from every pang of the heart, but at the same time it is so easy to fall further into that deep dark hole that I’m still working to climb out of.
I suppose when I was younger there wasn’t much of a choice to be made. It was impossible to deny the feeling of raking claws across my chest, tearing at my tender heart. It seems like I used to cry so often as I was lying down to sleep at night. I never thought I could actually miss those awful moments of sorrow. Yet now I almost long to feel in the way that I once could. For years now, it has been nearly impossible for me to cry. It isn’t that I haven’t had reason to. The tears just don’t seem to come anymore. Instead of stinging eyes, now I only feel this strange gaping chasm behind my ribs, a terrible emptiness.