In Great Sadness (Poetry - Non-rhyming)

Why must there be
So much pain?
I know others have asked
In words that speak
So much more than mine,
But still I want to know.
I cannot love
Except with the most guarded phrases
And careful touches
Afraid to place too much
Upon those who are
As sensitive to love as I,
Bare nerves, frayed and worn
From caring so much
And feeling with more than
Simply five senses.
So I love the few
Who feel as much pain as I do
Because I know their limits:
They are equal to my own.
Too much love
And we all break and run
To far corners
Where we can retire, alone
To fill with unshed tears
The hollow that holds what is left of our hearts.
We cannot cry for ourselves-
That feeling of pity
Is long gone,
Leaving only resignation,
And the fear of love
And worse, the fear of not being loved
Again.

You speak to me of your fears
Of not finding love,
And of not being able to accept
What you have found.
I can feel you reaching
To me, wanting to be loved
But not being able
To risk exposing yourself.
I move,
And in a motion we join
Your head coming to rest wearily
On my breast.
I brush your soft hair
From your forehead
Feeling for all the world
Like a mother comforting
A frightened, lonely child.
Tears well in my eyes
For you, that you find yourself
In the pain I have
Been living with,
And would have spared you,
Had I only known how.
I hold you close, and speak softly
And we share a love that neither of us will name
For fear it will turn the same
As all the others.

The Coming of the Light (Poetry - Non-rhyming)

I have reasons to fear the coming of the light.

They are waiting now, in the darkness
And I sense them shuffling unheard feet.
I fear that any change will break this stalemate;
will precipitate action again on a large scale.
And so I fear the coming of the light.

On a hilltop I stand, and bodies line the paths that lead to its summit,
Wracked by pain and death; and their blood mingles on my blades,
But there are more to come. Now, for this short time they wait,
And I breathe in the darkness as if I could pull enough inside to disappear.
And I fear the coming of the light.

It could be a mercy to see them, to know who and what it is that screams as my blades pull the life from their bodies.
But I am one man, and I have but two arms with which to slay.
The darkness is my ally, it confuses their attacks,
It causes them to wound each other as I snake in and out and twirl between deaths.
And so I fear the coming of the light.

The battle has forced me away from friendship, from love,
It drives me to reach the summit above, to the goal, to the prize,
Though I know not what it is, or what may await me in the darkness.
Its urgency pushes me onward, and I ignore all else,
Except my fear, of the coming of the light.

My fighting is free and unrestrained; I have abandoned myself to the slaughter,
For I have no friends whom I might wound, and each precise thrust spills foe’s blood.
My only questions are moot by now, for even the asking could spell death.
Who is it that I fight, in my unending battle? Who is it that screams when I thrust; whose breathe rattles out into the night?
I fear the coming of the light.

Lonely I stand, in the midst of many. My touch only wounds, my comfort lies in blood.
And for now, they stand away, and wait.
But battle will be rejoined soon, I hear the growing impatience in their ragged breaths.
And my own mirror them.
But still I fear the coming of the light.

The reason for this battle escapes me; I fight because that is what I have always done.
And I wonder if those arrayed against me know this secret drive,
Or if indeed there is reason at all.
Do we all fight so that the fighting will continue?
Do we all fear the coming of the light?

I have heard, in the darkness, those who have given up.
They throw away their weapons, and walk towards the summit unarmed.
I have heard them cut down, by others or myself, but it seemed as if;
Perhaps the darkness was less while they lived.
Did they, too, fear the coming of the light?

And what if, however insane it might seem, they were not alone,
And many threw down their arms and walked together?
Surely it would only mean their deaths… Surely;
Because this is a battle, this life.
And we must fear the coming of the light.

But as I wait for the fight to resume, with my weapons in hand,
I cannot help but remember, how the darkness seemed a little less,
And think that maybe… If there were enough who worked together,
Could the darkness be driven back?
Does it, too, fear the coming of the light?

Those around me move closer, and I throw down my weapons.
I know not why, nor how, nor what will happen to me.
And I fear the consequences of my actions, but at least I have chosen them,
And no longer, not today nor evermore,
Will I fear the coming of the light.

They stop for a moment, those hungry souls,
And I see what they see, what causes them to hesitate.
I cannot help it; it is all around me… The darkness has lessened.
And as I walk towards the summit, no longer afraid, I know.
This is the coming of the light.

Never Everending (Poetry - Non-rhyming)

You have such vitality,
Such ruthless cheer, such joyous pain.
Your clothing, like minarets on battlements,
A defense that invites me in.
Your smile, so open in its guardedness,
Tells less than it asks, and I wonder:
Is love an imposition, or a duty?
Never is such a long time,
To wait…
And when it happens, I’ll know,
That the wait will never end.
(that word again…)
And I see you – and;
…I see you.
And never isn’t too long.
Your defenses toy with me,
But minarets, though pretty, are yet stone.
I take no joy in your pain,
(I sometimes cheer at your ruthlessness)
And you have such vitality;
But darling; never is such a long time,
To wait…

How Many Like Me? (Poetry - Non-rhyming)

How many like me have come before, and why I ask I do not know
I am myself, and strong at that, but still these questions dog my thoughts.
How many like me I ask myself, that walked this land and left their tracks,
and might I find if I did look their footprints staring back at me.

How many like me have come before, and left their mark in history?
And can I measure up to them, or are there none like me, but me?
Why do I think the way I do, where have I gone to reach this place,
what does it take to become me; is it a process others took?

You and I are not alike, I know this? Or perhaps I think;
and if we are, should we two meet, or hide ourselves until we part?
If we should find ourselves the same, would we two be the ones we are,
how many like us would we see pass if we should take the time to look?

If I should find me walking by, and look upon and know myself,
would this enlighten or despair, or produce results I cannot guess?
Can I survive another me, an ‘I’ I’ve never seen or heard,
And could this me survive myself? Can I make choices based on that?

How many like me have come before, and reached this point and thought these thoughts?
How many have sat in quietude, with roiling thunder deep inside,
When lightning crashes do they see, in distant light and noise and heat?
Or is it only fantasy, inside my head like so much else?

How many like me have writ these words, have cried these tears and known not why,
have spent their lives just ‘looking in’ to lives they cannot understand?
How many like me have sent their hopes, winging toward some future I,
In desperation wishing that, some day a me will make it clear?

These words are only messages, sent towards a one I’ll never know,
Who waits and wonders wordlessly, of things unclear to even them.
And if it’s you I send it to, take heart for you are not alone,
An ‘I’ is here, for you to meet, though we may never touch or speak.

You aren’t the first, I’d say to you, if only you could hear my words,
Take comfort, though the road is hard, because our tracks will guide you on,
How many we’ve been I do not know, but in my time the tracks were deep,
And when we reach the end then I; and you, and us, and we- will meet.