Power Of Pain

I sat alone another day.
The world was moving all around me,
but it seemed as if my life was in a standstill.
The doctors say its anxiety.
Everyone thinks anxiety means nervousness or fear,
but it is deeper than that.
Anxiety holds you prisoner.
You can't leave your house.

Ding
Dong
Ding
Dong

The doorbell rings but I can't answer.
There is too much fear inside.
You can't answer the phone.

Ring
Ring
Ring

"Telephone for you!" my family yells. I
tell them to say that I will call back, but I won't.
You can't eat.

Chomp
Bite
Chew

No, not me. The anxiety
even controls that. All the pain rushes back up with
every little thing I eat.
You can't go out.

Step
Step
Step

Everyone walking around me, but I can't move, the
apprehension paralyzes me.
Everyone says, "Be brave. You can do it. You'll make it out of this."
But sometimes I wonder if I will.
I try to combat it all, but if I attempt to do anything,
it all starts over again.

Thump
Thump
Thump

My heart beats faster and faster.
I can feel it in my chest.

Beads of sweat
Racing
Falling
Running down my forehead.
All the thoughts swarm in my brain.
The fear picks up.
It is unbearable.
I'm so frightened, but I don't know what of.
The paranoia sweeps over my body like a giant wave.
Every day I have to fight what seems to be a losing battle.
But then . . . I look outside.
I see the colors.
I see the life.
I see spirit.
I know I can do this.

Hope
Pray
Win

In Times Off

My soul drifts aimlessly in times of hopelessness.
It searches tirelessly for meaning and truth ...
Yet finds no direction.

My heart bleeds quietly in times of loneliness.
It yearns to find warmth and happiness ...
Yet it somehow eludes me.

My eyes seek out visions in times of want.
They gaze endlessly through the blackness that envelops them ...
Yet they cannot see the light.

My ears listen earnestly in times of silence.
They search for familiar sounds to comfort and console ...
Yet they cannot penetrate the darkness that surrounds me.

My arms reach out frantically in times of despair.
They seek strength and compassion to enfold me ...
Yet they find nothing substantial to enwrap.

My mind cries out desperately in times of solitude.
It poses intense questions that demand answers ...
Yet there are none to be found.

Drifting

I sometimes find I'm drifting
Through this life without effect;
I often wonder if I'm truly
Worth what I've been blessed.

I search through days that have been hard,
To try to understand,
The many trials that I have known,
The life that I have had.

You see me in my daily grind,
So confident and strong;
Yet when I am alone, I question
Just where I belong.

I often try too hard I find,
To analyze and guess,
To scrutinize, investigate
My life I will confess.

For somewhere deeper, there must be
Some meaning to this life,
Some way to make a difference,
Give a reason for this strife.

Is there some hidden meaning?
Some agenda to be found?
A greater purpose waiting
If I care to hang around?

It teases and it taunts me,
Always slightly out of sight;
A hazy vision out of reach,
Where darkness hides the light.

I struggle to bring clarity
To what awaits me there,
And yet this weak illusion
Always fades before my stare.

It seems the harder that I try,
To focus through the haze,
Just serves to add more questions,
Through my endless, tired gaze.

Perhaps I'm trying just too hard,
To understand it all,
For can we ever truly know
Just what we have in store?

Each incident, each moment passed,
Just adds upon the next,
But in the end, will I find truth ...
Or will I be perplexed?

Perhaps I make it harder
Than it has to be sometimes,
But will my searching bring to me
My meaning over time?

Or will it leave me broken,
And confused as I feel now,
While questions bring no solitude,
To this, my wrinkled brow.

Let It Fall

One more anti-hero worship
from the depths
of some enigmatic fool
that left the suburbs
for the open fields
of post modern flight from hell.
No, not from the quakes
or the rumblings of racism,
that stench we all tend
to want to get rid of,
but the fact that there
were just too many things wrong.
So off I went to the last
journey of my youth,
through the pubs and alleys
of Los Angeles that served
many nights of reckless talk
and the establishment be damned.
There goes Happy House, Scream
and all those open up at 10 pm
party houses, where you paid 5 bucks
to drink yourself to life,
and walk out Saturday morning at 6 am
like the kind demons we were.
And dance the pain that we had
kept for the week
and wonder what 30 would be like
and if the Virgin Prunes
were right about
"If I die I die".
But then, that love in your soul
the one that makes you write
and pour out those false indignities
that caress your heart and mind
for after all we've been through
stars have their moments and then they die.

Poems on Life

In some sense, it could be argued a category about Life is a vague, nebulous cop-out. Any poem ever penned by Man or Woman would surely gain ready admittance here. All poems, almost by definition, are about Life.
But don't, for a moment, think that makes this category any less important. On the contrary, if the poems and topics you are about to explore are about Life, then they are also about you.
No one person can ever experience all that life has to offer. It is only through sharing - experiences, feelings, insights - that we can hope to grow beyond our own meager lifetime. Are you ready to grow today?

I cannot speak for all who stem
'Long roads less traveled as their way,
Nor question choices made by them
In days long past or nights long dim
by words they spoke and did not say.

Each road is long, though short it seems,
And credence gives each road a name
Of fantasies sun-drenched in beams
Or choices turned to darkened dreams,
To where each road wends just the same.

From North to South, then back again,
I followed birds like all the rest
Escaping nature's snowy den
On roads I've seen and places been,
Forsaking roads that traveled West.

This journey grows now to its end,
As road reflections lined in chrome
Give way to roads with greater bend
And empty signs that still pretend
They point the way to home sweet home.

But all roads lead to where we go
And where we go is where we've been,
So home is just a word we know,
That space in time most apropos
For where we want to be again.

For even home, it seems to me,
Is still a choice we all must face
From day to day and endlessly,
To choose if home is going to be
Another road - or just a place. 

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