On the Burden of Mental Health

I’ve written poetry on this site for years, along with several other venues. I’ve traveled many circles in words, encountered countless writers of all gender, all with the same passions, same desires, same hurts and wants and understandings. I’ve met some that so spoke to my own inner self that I wondered if our lives had passed by one another. Ironically, I have often thought of former lovers, years ago, who might come across my words, and without really knowing, wonder if, just if.

I’ve written about the mystique of woman in so many different ways I’ve lost count of my reason why. Or perhaps I no longer want to think about why. I do know what love is, and at the same time, I recognize pain, and I struggle to allow the beauty of love to become a tragic malady in the lives of human beings who feel. I wonder about the actual moment when what a person feels suddenly turns dangerous, and their bodies both mentally and physically choose to retreat, because humanity is taught to shelter ourselves rather than take risks. I don’t fault a person for wanting shelter, for choosing what is safe in their lives. I just sometimes envy those that learn how to navigate the edge.

There is someone out there for all of us. I know this to be true, because even so, we cannot always have what it is we believe we should have. Sometimes the choice is not ours and no matter how hard we try, we cannot change the mind of a lover scorned. Once described as an unmet expectation, the unraveling of what once was a certainty no longer holds the fabric of our quiet passion. We find ourselves scrambling to justify, to describe a rationale that will keep everyone happy, and then one day, it is a silent day, a meditative reflection, we come to terms with the form of alone that allows us to make a decision, to create another chapter, or in the crudest manner, gloss over the beauty of what once was a magic, a wonder, a reality.

In recent months, my mental health has been tested more than I would like to imagine. I’ve made choices based upon my desires, leaving me with an outcome that has revealed a certain void in my life that has me on my knees more often than I would like. The beauty of woman is what first motivated me to write here, the words the readers, the venue allowed me to explore a fascination that has been closed, locked away, denied for many years. I wrote words that I wanted both men and women to shudder upon, to realize just how marvelous is the sensual nature of the human condition. I had a wonderful time doing so, and have met many lovely and real and genuine people along the way. Yet love is a surreal reality in the mind of a philosophical romantic.

I came to realize I was writing for one person, and it wasn’t me. Now, all the research I do on writing seems to suggest I must write for myself. I find that to be a very lonely place, one that only allows me to struggle. I listen to music as a background to my writing. There are times when a certain song or melody takes me places that I want to go and it inspires my world on paper. Then there are times when I cannot find the right song, composition, driving force of nature to give my writing a boost.

So tonight I sat in my – local – cafe, close to my home, and I wondered how to address this question in my mind. I still haven’t found an answer beyond knowing I have known love and I am grateful. I wish it could just be that without all of the societal constraints that determine just how much we can be who we are in a managed and planned experiment. I wonder sometimes who it was that determined the rules for this experiment. I believe in God, or some entity of spiritual determination, but as I write these last words I am convinced we have, or maybe it is just me, moved a bar beyond the original concept of what He means in our lives, in my life.

I wonder about the beauty of two people in love, I wish breaking rules meant a greater understanding without the fear of discretion. I appreciate the loneliness of having to choose a place to land. My feet are still not firmly planted on the ground, so I’m still at risk for knowing what is true, what is fantasy, what is my own personal breaking point.

I wonder always about the beauty of woman and the inspiration you do bring to my life.

From Anywhere to Now

This is for you,

as we cross so many paths with people

in thought, in race, in notion,

in an emotional rollercoaster

sometimes tamed,

often times needing a long time tuning

for perhaps safety

or simple personal enjoyment.

 

It is here we discover fascination,

a reality drawn by fantasy,

a need to find reason

a desire to know passion

when last time we checked

our human condition was certainly

the same as the next …

 

yet it is the words, the constant change

to re create the constant.

 

good night sweet writers

An Epic Poem He Wants

So he puts on the right music,

probably rock and roll,

his genre, his childhood,

it’s what he always thought

he might know,

when push comes to shove,

when life says it time to know

once again,

re-evaluate your love,

it is that sort of quiet mindset

the break of day begins,

and everything that matters,

seems rather senseless

until the words begin to flow.

 

Oh to be on chartered waters

where the epic nature of time

began to flow like the sea waves

we might only have imagined

from some land-locked port of call.

 

For it is inside the memory of time

we do make choice

we call out our inhibitions

when no one is looking

and suddenly our dance,

the steps we have long feared

become a sacred sort of prance

inside this silent makeup

of human condition

and emotional well being

caught in the eyes of a stranger

to appear more likely a trance.

 

Oh to find the words,

to finish this state of mind,

where it was in the beginning

is another day feeling

the pains and fruition of what it is

we choose

we want

we need

we .. love.


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

I Wish For Certainty

Life would be easy,

if when a gasp,

we might choose the next breath,

the wind our motor

to vehicle our lives beyond this

lonely

sedentary

reality whereby the time alone,

leaves such an ill-fated

aftertaste.

 

Oh my, such a mouthful of

derision

said the optimist

to the cynic

rolling down the damp pavement

of their own personal

Autumn,

realizing only now,

there would be less time

to appreciate the evolution

of the seasons,

these our own natural

timetables

that mark assured existence,

our reality.

 

Oh for now,

hop back on the train,

for the human carnivore

our societal ills,

the places we go,

the times we recall,

will only be faint memories,

the years travel by,

and one day,

that gasp we became so dependent upon,

will reach for

another sky.


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

Sometimes, When I Cannot Think

I walk in a circle

without ever leaving my mind,

the world around me,

static,

only me wandering

inside this place,

this bit of evil

that would suggest

I will fail

no matter the energy,

the positive source of beauty,

no matter the realm of distance

between my self and my future.

 

It is a quiet torment,

the reality of certain disappointment

when coming to terms

with that simplicity

we blame upon

the human condition.

 

We are taught to understand

failure in frivolous fortune,

the sediment of our mind,

showing only the deprecating outcome

of shielded fury,

the sort of reckoning

occurs when one is faced with a fate

they might never believe

could happen in their lifetime.

 

Then we are told to live on,

get over the edge of sorrow

realize another day,

welcome a new horizon,

as we drive toward a full moon,

we are asked to forget our past.

 

Sometimes, when I am left to imagine

I cannot think beyond the tears.


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

Inside the Certainty of Love

That spectacular feeling,

an emotion screaming to be heard,

the lights flashing, sparkling, an imagined

atmosphere of unrestrained ego,

every aspect of the body is content

in realizing this is me,

this is you, us, we are,

and yet where we were, we are now,

when everything that matters,

becomes just this!

 

… until …

 

The fracture,

the question, the analysis, the coveted

‘whom am I in your eyes’

becomes far more important than simply

the beautiful being that she was

and always

will

be inside my own eyes.

 

Tears fall as eloquently upon my breast

as do perhaps the words I choose

to describe this one,

so surreal in the atmosphere of understanding

just how does the human condition

play a role

in allowing our lives to gain

trust

inside the spectrum of another’s eyes,

no matter the circumstance,

there will always be that one time,

when I did

and forever now, when passing memory

I will … forever, love you

 

~just finding my way, a personal journey~

When People Become Mean

There is no stopping the onslaught,

the defense unravel,

the mind believes,

anyone standing nearby is a toss-away

a forgotten

here to stay.

 

When people become mean,

we cannot ever imagine that to be

their true intent

we can only ride the crest

of confusion

of truths

of the measure of sadness

 

Oh, to be in a world where dreams do come true,

where the simple reality

of finding one another

inside each other’s eyes

is well enough

long beyond the analysis

of why this is real,

or convince myself that it is fake.

 

These tears now,

they want to pour,

they will not be held back,

because if restrained

then the emotion will remain,

and how can we possibly live with ourselves

when told we are

someone we always believed

we were not.

 

When people become mean,

their hearts find atrophy is forever.

 

~just finding my way, a personal journey~