Return to the Bottom

I want to lay down and sleep
Forever dreaming of the days I woke to your smile
The heady aroma of everything you are
Keeping me on the highest cloud
I want to return to the days
When I lived in your heart
Because I don't know where to go from here
In the world of today where "alone" is just as abstract as "dream"
And I don't think I remember who I was before I was yours
So
I want to lay down and sleep
Because I remember the view from the bottom
Where the floor needed vacuuming
And the old show under the bed was a comforting friend
The thing is
The bottom is up from where I am now
And above that is the dream of the memory of
You
I want to lay down and sleep
Because falling so far after rising so high
Feels like jumping off a bridge and not dying
I need to lay down and sleep
Before I start to fight the instinct to survive
And dreams become the reality of sleeping forever

I Wonder if You Know

There's an ache in my arms
And it only goes away when you touch me, and
There's a moment where I catch my breath and I hold it
Until you kiss me
Because I've never flet as special as I do in those moments when your lips press against mine.
And I wonder if you know
I've sat before the page
Spinning tales and penning soliloquy after soliloquy
Carefully ensuring that a love I didn't understand would always win out
Because I never knew love as a true and viable reality until
I heard the words in your voice
Feeding me what once was sin
Touching the edge of my soul
And I wonder if you know
I've laid awake at night
Wondering how to return the sentiment
Contemplating the feeling, like a dream
I don't want to wake up from for fear of forgetting what it meant
Love ... seems a paltry word applied to the gift you've given
Shall I instead create a planet
With ten suns shining brightly in the sky for you to understand your own brightness?
Shall I label you "Dark God" so you may see the sway you hold on my heart?
Maybe, to call you My Sun and Stars in order to offer dominion over the Universe as I understand it?
I wonder if you know
You are all of them ad more
That no pedestal could lift you so high
Because you fit best
Here
By my side.
Prince, Dark God
My sun and stars
I wonder if you know
How long I wandered
Only to finally have found home
In your eyes.

View From the Bottom (Rough Draft)

The carpet needs vacuuming.
There's an old shoe under the bed
I should really keep my room a bit cleaner
But I can't find the strength to even stand
Because this is the view from the bottom and
All I can think of is why I'm here
How did I get here?
Because the view from the bottom,
Much like the view from the top,
Is a place where you can see a lot.
All the things left unsaid.
All the matters left unattended and
All the tiny details that were missed.
My bad genes match the dirty jeans balled up in the corner
And I laugh but it's a laugh full of irony
Empty of feeling and devoid of joy
Because this is the view from the bottom and
At the bottom even cockroaches are looking up at you, saying
"Damn brother, you need to pick yourself up!"
Only there is no picking up.
There is only laying still.
Watering the carpet with my tears that
Flow for no reason, or rather
Not any reason anyone "normal" would understand.
See, laying in the bottom is the safest place to be
When it hurts to move; when you know
That movement can and will mean something terrible.
Because this is the view from the bottom.
Looking up at the sun, so affirming and life giving
If only it would burn me to a cinder and stop all this
Give me a chance to give back the life I don't want
The pain I can't take and the drama I don't need.
If only I could muster up the strength to move
Fight this instinct to stay alive that keeps me laying
In the dirt of a floor that needs vacuumed because if I move
Just an inch
I know the view from the bottom will be the last thing I ever see.

After My House was Robbed

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
255 babies born every minute and
Every step of our development from that point on
Is programmed and categorized
For easy comparison and reference
Apgar score, head circumference
Height, weight
How fast we grow . . . or how slow
From the minute we're born
We either fit in or we don't
We're either normal or abnormal
And every minute after realizing this
Is spent avoiding statistics
"I don't want to be a statistic" we shout, while
57 million Americans have mental Health disorders
      (and there are 55 Million registered republicans)
How quick can we say
"I'm not crazy" when
1 out of 2 people abuse alcohol
Let's drink to not being the one with the problem!
4 out of 5 of us do drugs
Well, pass the dutchie because I'm. Number. Four.
1 out 5 children witness domestic violence
So maybe that's why I still shake when someone wants to fight
3 million homes will be robbed
1 out of every 6 women will be raped
      (1 out of 10 men)
216 people will die while this poem is being read

The question is, Does that matter?

How many sunrises will be seen?
How many sunsets?
How many first kisses will be enjoyed and
How many last kisses will linger in memory?
How many job interviews will be nailed and
How many pink slips doled out?
When will success happen and
When will its relevance be questioned
How many books will be read?
How many poems written?
How much love will be fallen into and
How many dances will be danced?
     (In the rain?)

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
And we remain one until we die
This is the way of things
Birth followed by death
The part in the middle?
That's called life and
Life is now and
Life  . . .
Is still to come.

Intermission

I, your humble madman, began this as a project to house poetry and creative musings. I have become increasingly humbled to see that I actually have a small fan base growing, including readers in Russia, Germany and Africa. This is truly amazing and has inspired me to expand Musings of the Mad to the Book of Faces and Google Plus (URL's Below) anyone reading, anywhere, head over to those pages and give me a "Like" or a "Plus 1". What's going to be different on those pages will be insight into the ideas, additional material that was cut from final drafts, alternate endings and/or unused concepts and the like. It will be fun and interesting and who knows where this journey may lead. Thank you all!

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In Thy Image

All I can do is pray
The words, they bite; with the sting of repressed fury and sadness and emotion that one can't know what to do with and so they do the only thing they can do; the only thing that makes sense.
They look for order in chaos and for peace in war and for divinity in humanity
All I can do is pray
It tastes sour in my mouth as I ask angrily
Pray to whom? A God that could have prevented this? A God who looks upon his creations and allows such things to happen? Would this be the same God who allowed a Policeman to rush a child out of a crowded building while eyewitnesses talk about the bullet holes that can be seen in her back.
All I can do is pray?
What's the point? The ecumenical messiah is nowhere to be found during tragedy, so often hiding behind "mysterious ways" and "divine plans." Gone is the reputation for infinite compassion and love; replaced by everlasting vanity and narcissism. This is the God from whom you seek solace.
All I can do is pray.
To a God that hold his children in such ill regard that He will stand by and watch as they destroy themselves? How does this act of faith over logic help you? When fortune favors the foolish you declare divine intervention; yet when tragedy strikes you bend to his will.
All I can do is pray.
The ultimate in abusive behavior patterns, you thank him equally for the good and the bad begging him not to leave you and to save you from yourself. As you kneel on bended knee begging him not to let countless thousands suffer and die in impunity you reveal your true self
All you can do is pray.
The ultimate in manipulation, you convince everyone that you're doing something while you in fact do nothing. Putting empty platitudes over actions and true aid. Perhaps you don't know what do or how to react. Or perhaps it is true that your God created man in his own image.

One Last Fight

"I came, just like I promised." the voice was soft and trembling, though not from fear.  She knelt down, placing her palms on the tops of her thighs in a gesture she thought might look regal and hoped it didn't look supplicating.  She smiled at this.  What a thing it would be to submit to the dead!  Her smile turned to a muffled sob as she realized he would have found it funny too. 

The tears fell as she looked up, away from where he lay, and remarked that this was a holdover from the past. She'd been unable to look at him when she was crying for years.  She always hated that and a surge of anger flooded through her at this realization that she was still unable to look at him.

"Damn you!" she said, loudly causing several birds to take flight and this made her laugh again.

"You're such a jerk." she said, looking back at his resting place.  All she saw was the cold unyielding stone that was all that was left to mark the presence of a man she felt so dynamic, so much larger than life.  She stroked the top of the stone and felt a fresh, raw surge of sadness at it's cold, unyielding surface scraping against her skin.  There was none of the warmth, softness or hidden strength that she'd felt in his arms as they'd wrapped around her, making her feel safer than she'd ever been.

"Not a jerk. You're an asshole!" her anger rose again.

"You left me. You left us! How could you do that you selfish prick?  Did you know they ask about you every day?  Did you know we all cry ourselves to sleep with-"

"They really ask about me?" came a voice making her jump up so fast that she bumped her head on a tree branch.  She whirled around ready to give this intruder, this stalker a piece of her mind---how dare he interrupt her grieving---but the sight she beheld caused her knees to buckle.  It was him. 
Defying all logic and all reason, he stood before her.  She felt her knees go weak and she clenched her fists vowing not to faint, if for no other reason than she hated women who fainted at shocking situations.  Though there was an honest fear that if she fainted he would be gone when she came to.

"Brian?" she asked in the same soft and trembling voice she'd used when she'd arrived.

"In the flesh." he said, flashing a lopsided grin that had always made her melt in life, but now his flippant tone did nothing for her.

"You can't be here." she said, her tone incredulous.

"But I am." he replied, his tone light.  He came closer, a literal spring in his step and he enfolded her in his arms.  He felt her melt into him for just a moment and then her coldness took over and she shoved him away.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" she screamed, giving into the shock.  His face fell, the happiness dripping away to fear.

"I'm Brian." he said,

"Babe it's okay."

"Don't you 'babe' me!" she spat.

"How dare you!  How dare you do this to me!" she sobbed, and did, at last fall to her knees, though to her credit she didn't faint.  He touched her shoulder gently trying to reassure her in that infuriating way he'd had in life.

"You're dead.  You died.  We buried you.  There isn't any resurrection.  You can't be here."  Her voice was now desperate.  Her need for this to be true was equal only to her need for it to be untrue.

"All the more reason you should be happy to see me." he said gently.  His voice shook, but it wasn't fear or sadness, it was . . . effort.  He was straining.

"Well I'm not." she said with finality.

"I understand." he said simply, but his eyes pleaded with her for understanding for acceptance.

"Why should I be?  If you're here then there are a handful of reasons why," she ticked the points off on her left hand.

"One, you're really dead and I've finally lost it, which would mean I was far more dependent on you then either of us wanted; if I've somehow resurrected you in my head to help me cope.  Two, you aren't dead and there's some kind of elaborate reason you faked your death, which would lead to some extraordinary thing like 'Witness Protection' or some other shit like that which would mean you came to say good bye; which means I'm about to lose you all over again and that's just the shittiest thing you could do to a person.  Three." she choked on the word.

"Three, you've been genuinely resurrected which would imply the existence of something that had the power to do that which would mean my entire belief system (or lack thereof) is wrong.  Now, which of these people do you want to be?" she looked squarely at him, challenging him to declare himself as the harbinger of her mental infirmity, and insensitive clod or the proof of divinity which she denied.

"I'm Brian," he said simply, stroking her hair.

"I'm the Brian you know and I came to say goodbye, that's true." and then he laughed, loudly and deeply, a belly laugh that reminded her of watching him play with their children.

"And I'm in awe of you. As usual." he said smiling.

"So, you're real?  And this is what?  It is a witness protection thing?" she said, her eyes icy, but within herself she couldn't deny how happy she was to see him standing before her.

"I'm real.  And I've come to say goodbye my love.  But the rest . . . " he trailed off.

"Oh no!  Don't you do that!" her voice was angry again, and he laughed again and this made her even angrier.

"Why are you laughing at me?" she cried, her anger giving way to tears once again.

"Look at you!" He said,

"So beautiful, so full of fire, so sure of yourself that even given the final goodbye that no one ever gets you're picking a fight with me.  You're a joy to behold." his voice then gave way to sobs and he grabbed her hands.

"And I don't know how I got here or how long I'll be here, but you have to believe me.  I came for you.  I came across time and space and death and reality just for you.  Just to say goodbye.  And you're fighting with me." he gave a little laugh at that last,

"I can't believe you're fighting with me."

"I'm not trying to fight." she said softly.

He stood, his energy crackling with intensity.

"Well of course not.  I mean why would you?  I mean, it's clear you're just trying to cope with something you can't understand because it's inexplicable.  Do you think I wanted to go?"  his voice returned some of her anger now,

"Do you think it was fair?  There's no fairness in the Universe.  This is all there is."  He reached out and touched her breast, over her heart.

"And it was enough to bring me back to you.  To say good bye.  So.  Say it."

"No." she said defiantly.

"No?" he asked, hardly able to comprehend.

"No," she nodded,

"I mean why should I?  I don't know what you are or why you're here or if any of it is real.  What if I don't want closure?  What if I don't want to let you go or say goodbye because I want you here always?" she touched her heart over his hand,

"Besides.  You're not real.  Jerkface.  You can't be."

"Oh I'm real." he said and his hands were on the back of her neck and he pulled her into a kiss.  Long and deep and slow.  She did melt into him this time and though her eyes were closed she was aware that he was glowing and she knew then, without knowing why that it was ending.  She wrapped her arms around him desperately.

"No!" she screamed,

"No don't leave again! I don't even know why you're here."

"Because I am," he said,

"Because the universe is big. It's vast and complicated and ridiculous and sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles... and that's a theory.  But it's something you can believe in that doesn't require faith.  Theories can be proven by science." he winked at her.  The light surrounding him was blinding now.

"Or disproven." she said.

"I'm going to miss fighting with you." he said.

"I'm going to miss fighting with you." she responded, reaching for his hand.  He reached out though there was no longer any solidity to his form and her hand passed through his.

"No!" she cried.

"No, no, no." she repeated it over and over again, mournfully.  Sinking to her knees once more, placing her palms open on the tops of her thighs staring at the headstone that would once again be all that was left of her lover, her partner and her friend. 

"Goodbye my love." she heard him as if from a great distance and she closed her eyes against the tears.

She was still for a long time after that before opening her eyes and standing up.  She glanced at the stone that was all that remained and she whispered his name, giving it a lingering touch.  She knew she'd never know if what happened was real or imagined but she had to acknowledge that whether real or imagined the experience had left her feeling something she hadn't felt since he'd died.  It left her feeling loved.

Happy With You

21 things I want in a lover?
I'd be happy with you.
Imaginary Prince making me feel loved
Illusory lover showering upon me affections
As a feast to the starving
O' to be in your arms!
The very idea intoxicates me
21 things I want in a lover?
Such a paltry number to the man that would make me feel thus:
Made of star stuff
With eyes telling fairy tales and
A head full of dreams
Though tread softly for
This is what it means
To love a dream
And in the dream comes the lesson that
From a dream one must always awake.

21 things I want in a lover?
I'd be happy with you.

Musings of the Mad

Welcome to Musings of the Mad.

An ill maintained, rarely updated and deceptively literary stop in the world of wide webs. This project is the direct result of my best friend, partner, and lover asking me to write more poetry, coupled with the fact that it is National Poetry Writing Month (April 2012). The crux of the dilemma is that I am not a poet. Poetry is merely one of the forms that my art takes. I am a writer of all things. This corner of the world of wide webs is my home. It is where you, gentle reader, will see my soul. Light and dark, good and evil, love and hate . . . and every extreme in between are the fodder for my words.

I hope you enjoy it as much as it makes you uncomfortable. I hope you'll forgive false starts and incomplete stories and thoughts. After all . . . this isnt' supposed to be polished work. Remember these are the Musings of the Mad.