Spiraled and Caught

"These words are my own from my heart." -- Natasha Beddingfield


 When  did the times  change?
I see our with new eyes today.
Where do the smiles hide?
 Now the wind blows my thoughts away.

I thought I once knew everything--
 or really,  had learned SOME thing,
 Yet now I sit stunned,  silent,  in stupor
 As the scenes before my eyes  deeply sting.

I know things are good;
 Well, I think they are,  anyway.
 But somehow I'm saddened,
 More  distant than anything.

 When have my cares taken over my joys?
I lack the freedom I once had to breathe.
I feel the tightness,  the clenching  that's deep in my chest
 Which on ce used  to float and cavort out  with ease.

 I could make bold decisions  and leap for the chances
 For latr drives,  for movies,  for running,  for  dances,
 For pizza,  for fellowship,  for speaking,  for  leading.
 Now instead,  my soul is left pleading

 For renewal of vows of the inmost  degree,
 For promises and spirit,
 For some new sparked opportunities.

I feel like a shell that I'm spiraled  and caught
 That the world passes  by me with no single thought.

 That the world passes by me with

 No

 single


 thought.

Patience

Morning:
6AM, no patience for the alarms
     Despite their chirping birds, rushing waterfalls, or melodic spirals
715, no patience for the coffee perc'ing, the Eggos toasting, the puppy playing
745 the lights, the cars, the children's buses all get in my way
                         So much for my time before work starts.

Work:
An hour or so of winding through towers of teetering totter, emails and research and planning and forms
At 10 the bell rings as a death knell for Duncan
     (My death is not murder, but no less betrayal)
     As streaming from haphazard lives sally forth the aching, the tired, the lazy, the burdened,
          The naiive, the dew-eyed, the kids wearing masks.

By 18 to 11 they've used up my patience:
I've answered their questions, I've told them my stories,
I've laughed at their jokes, and they've laughed at my foibles.
I've given them each my whole very best

And now, there is none for the rest.

Afternoon:
Twelve O'clock--Is it lunch? Can someone please handover the frozen dish I will munch?
Not quite enough time to finish the laugh, not enough to ingest while tasting some flavor.
The comments I choose must be carefully chosen as each spoken word only comes twice in a week
(There is too many'a showcase to describe of
To pause

For a second

To regain some peace.) And it's
Back
To the faces of unawares children
Not seeing the truths or experiences in life that I wish I had patience--
Or the luxury of patience--
To watch them grow into.
Instead it's more doldrum; the jokes have lost color.
The smile is now fake; the questions grow old.
Curiosity, once a praised beauty, is now only a hindrance that stops the

Evening:
4 or 5 or 630 or something, I pull in the driveway awaiting another adventure!

No adventure; we are too old for that.
Our new every morning is wrung out to dry by the time our home encompasses me.
The chipper puppy love brings a smile for a moment.
Cuddles are the only answer.

To restore peace to have patience:
Rest in the arms of the lover.
Dine on the savory indulgences of the day.
Leave behind the lost humanity of the day; it is gone with the questions in the wind.

Seek peace, seek peace, seek peace.

1004PM
11/13/13 egheck

Life on the Screen

Do you remember when I first loved you?
Do you think of the first time spoken?


There were crowds around me that day:
   crowds ambling on their way to business
   crowds nosing into the daily happenstance
   crowds peeping in to see our faces (mine in real time, yours, a mere picture on a screen)

I told you then. I TOLD you then:


"Of course I love you."




And now...it's all too true.

"Of course I love you," when you snore instead of smile.
"Of course I love you," when you point and prod after a long, hard day.
"Of course I do," when questions becomes accusing.
"Of course," as water drips from my ever-leaking eyes.

Damn allergic eyes.

The sand surrounds us and swallows us whole.
The noise external obliterates the sweetness of whispers.
The traffic blocks the easy walks.
The rage and pressures eviscerate the calm and comfort.
The town of desperation swallows us whole.



I'm sinking now,


          I'm sinking now,





  (I'm sinking now)

into a discomfort lined with razors (the pointed edges, not the flat).
The pinpricks that surround me leave me no wiggle, wriggle, giggle room--
I see a cool and comfy spot!




--Oh wait.



It's just reflections from
the daggers
from the daggers of the razor blades of
broken hopes of
shattered dreams of
pieces of your face in a screen.

"Don't believe what you see on T.V."

Almost.

"Don't believe what you don't see in reality."

The Cardboard-Crate Life

The boxes have a pile again.
This time, there's plenty of furniture wrap, bubble wrap, newspaper, and label paper.
This time, I know what to expect.
I know what needs protecting.

I expect the goodbyes to be "I'll see you soon"s.
I expect the moving day will be filled with helping hands and end in a sweaty mess.
I expect tensions will be high as I try to organize each detail
                                            as I try to direct the flow of delicate possessions
                                            as I try to both hold onto the fond memories of this house and grieve for the life I now leave behind.
I expect some excitement and fear as I drive away with a car filled dangerously full.
I expect to have a new iPod playlist to distract me from the work.
I expect these things for that day.

As I look forward, I look back.
What happened last time? What happens this time?

I expect that I will know no one in this new town of new buildings and streets.
I expect that the "I'll see you soon"s will turn into mere imprints on the wind.
I expect that I will only know where the good food is once I am preparing to leave.
I expect the excitement will be dulled as there are no girlfriends to share it with when I get old.
I expect I'll learn a new way to drive with the "worst drivers ever."
I expect that another 15 pounds is waiting for me on the couch.
I expect I will just want to stay cuddled up in my new home on the furniture I know,
with the stuff I know, with the only person I know,
safe in the few things I know
Until I am too sad to try to get out.
Too lazy to build up new hobbies.
Too quiet to make any new friends.
Too "content" (or discontent) to mess up my routine.



I can't let this happen again; I have no patience for the doldrums.
I can't survive in a cardboard-crate life.
I need the touch of grass, the breath of breezes, and the laughter of water.
I need to reconnect with humanity and Earth.
I need a place to settle in that's more than just a house--a home.