beloved

Floundering falling down stairs laughing as I crack my head

somersaulting across rush hour traffic, often I wonder why my

consciousness and perceptions are merely a pocket pen flash light in the vast

darkness. Something akin to a stylus scribbling across the universal darkness scrabbling

Imagine yourself in a hushed expectant theater seven seconds before the show

a pin of light illumines the curtains and a hand appears to emerge beckoning

come hither

go

no go

terror

curiosity . . .

a fool for love I race into the void

The last thought before submerging in rest unconscious

awakening aware that I owe so much to the hitherto random kindness of women whose attention was dropped as the Widow's Mite—two cents equivalent—into the bottomless well of my self loathing

depression's despair

heart subsiding into stillness

last breaths panting

a fool for love I took prisoners along the way then sensing I owned them but became owned. Enslaved to Their Authority and at that I bridled and ran leaving the mementos of love behind memories as particles carried forward guilty of the singular sin of adoring them endowing them as GOD! Women, of course, are persons sans gender as angels are and in some vast sense resent the rarefied air atop the pedestals I placed them upon.

Long removed, exiled from, the womb and mother giving birth to me, i recognize only now myself given birth by each and every woman whose initial fleeting or lasting kindness resurrected me from a previous living death

Guilty as charged scourged and gibbeted dying again for loving too much a mere mite for their task of giving birth to the all of life.

Here we go again!

Well aware long long ago time amusements began with the 'holy show' worship; a time set aside from the ordinary to acknowledge the extraordinary . . . a momentary quiet allowing the silent to be heard into which music, song and dance were cast performed however now for me for you for all of us is endless din

wall-to-wall chaos

noise abounds

distractions prevail

of which and about I obviously am a player

just another noise maker a wee-wee whistle

but there is the stillness of slumber and dream in which I see things differently

knocked unconscious with awe clubbed to reverence

Wile E. Coyote bouncing back up atop the precipice

“One who knows how to show and to accept kindness will be a friend better than any possession.”

- Sophocles

130513 03:00 beloved

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved