Tag Archives: holding onto hope

Brighter Than Angels

The summer was golden and honeyed and brighter than angels.
We walked hand in hand in ancient woods and wide open meadows.
We played and crystal clear waters that took our breath away
as we dove under. The sun shimmered and crowned the mermaids.
We made love in our little cabin as the day ended, falling asleep embracing.

And summer is a ribbon that cuts your heart with a sweet and stinging venom
as we wait out the dim days and moonless nights, wiping away the tears of the stars
as we remember the sweetness we had before and that me must wait to return.
We laugh and dream and talk about the first time the sun will touch our child
when it comes to us in the first of spring, a year after we exchanged rings.

Holding on to the light as the darkness seems eternal and unpassing.
I must remember the stars crown my wife’s head as we keep out the red dragon
that comes in the cold and in the dark and the siren song of despair.
She is warm as we share our simple meal, and find strength in memory and hope.
The sun will come again, having escaped the serpent that tried to swallow it.

The sun will come again.

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Quiet Moment On The Front Lines of an Eternal War

I was tired, from something more than battle and fatigue and hunger. I was tired not just to my bones, but to my very soul. My heart felt like it was pumping sludge instead of blood.

Me and her, Lt. Parris, were sitting above our dug out bunker that was basically home, known, not at all affectionately, as The Tomb. We had tinned fish and bottled water, so we were in high cotton!

Lt. Parris, I dared never call her Taelor, was happily chowing on down on her tinned fish, as if she were on her lunch hour in the park, not a care in the world. Not that she was careless, and not that she wasn’t as wrung out and exhausted as I was, it was just the meat grinder of a war never seemed to dampen her brightness, she shone even in this night.

It was the last dregs of dusk, the last bits of golden and red light been washed out of the sky, and the teacup of the sky was almost completely turned over to close out the light. So many holes in the tea cup. So many stars.

Their was a cool wind coming off the desert. Always so cold at night. Very cold. But I felt something in that wind, almost, almost…….peaceful.

Lt. Parris finished her tinned fish, and washed down the salty aftertaste with the last few swigs from her bottled water. She looked out onto the bare horizon, which ghostly and uncertain under starlight and with no bright moon. There not fear in her eyes. Only peace. And resolve.

“Something to eat besides MRE’s are a rare treat Jones, you should have savored it more.” She says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What are tinned fish when we’re all being devoured, and The Red Dragon is coming take us. We’re all burning. We’ll be ashes on this cold goddamn wind.”

Lt. Parris, sighed, still looking out on the horizon, but she saw something…..else out there. Something……beyond the night and the demons and all the bloodshed.

“Jones…..we’re facing a lot right now. Don’t think I don’t notice the state you’re in. Don’t think I don’t know the Principalaties are amassing, and we’re hemorrhaging soldiers, and that it’s seems like everything we’re fighting for is hopeless and lost.”

“How many years have we been at This Lt. Parris? How much has been lost and how many have we sent how in caskets? How many rivers of blood has flowed on these dusty hills? And for what? The Red Dragon is still pushing hard against us! The demons are everywhere! There’s no bloody end to them! Home, is almost lost!”

I was howling at this point, as if to offer a scream up the sky and heaven itself! Once again, I was getting to worked up. To emotional. To bloody moody and unstable. I sighed, and brought myself back to earth, I think.

Lt. Parris sighed, but didn’t react otherwise. She didn’t threaten to have me reported to the platoon priest for blasphemy, or threaten to have me court martialed for defeatism. All the same, this was stuff she’d heard before, often, and was exasperated with hearing. Almost as exasperated as I was for not being able to shut up about it. But this war I’d been fighting for so long, and nothing seemed to every change in a good way. All that changed was what poor sucker caught it that day and had to be sent home in a box, perhaps a box that contained many pieces.

“Jones, Home isn’t lost. We have held them. At cost, at pain and loss. But we have held. It will never end, not until The Revelation and The End of Time. We’re going to fight here until we can’t. The others who follow us will do the same. The Red Dragon will always be a threat, because just as we have the divine light in us, we also have the darkness in us. Demons were once us you know. They got seduced. They let themselves be taken.

“There  will always be people who let themselves be taken.” She said.

She reached over and placed arm around my shoulders, and gave me a squeeze. I tensed, surprised by her showing any sort of affection. But I then melted into it, and felt the warmth of her, and I felt as if the light and the peace in her was pouring into me.

She disengaged herself, squeezed my knee, than looked up at the stars.

“Remember what you have won, and what you’ve saved, all that you’ve been, even here.” She says.

She collects her empty tin and bottle and goes back inside The Tomb.

I sit by myself for a long time, in the darkness, beneath the stars, and in the wind.

Breathing Ghost

Mach 1 Mustang up the two lane highway, heading north.
Holding on to the hope of her at my side for all it’s worth.
New England is golden and bleeding red in Autumn,
the bleeding out of the green as the leaves fall in the rain.
How much farther can I go before all the hope is lost.

The sun is dim and a watered down golden hue.
The cold is in the air, biting my skin, when I sleep
on the side of the highway, my jacket thin and useless.
I’ll lose fuel before Rochester I know, wear down my shoes.
Will she be there when I come walking in like a living ghost?

It’s all spread into darkness and loss and a loss at what to do.
She was in Rochester when the lights when out and hope faded.
Is she still there? I push the car harder and harder to New York.
I’ve got to find her again, I’ve got to have her at my side in Winter.
I’m walking dead, a breathing ghost, if she’s not there, waiting for me.

I Can Make Her The Moon

A dream made a star and placed in a dark, empty sky

that has lost the treasures that it was born with.

A dream in Veronica’s face, and eyes I can make suns

on a world that grows green now, after the war.

Glad to see her, and steal some talk, words I can make

the moon, the sheered out sister keeping me stable,

as the massive black hole in the center of my heart,

ever tries to pull me to the place where there is no light.

I say goodnight, and keep her close, the sun lighting

the ashen forests returning from the war and it’s fires,

tender shoots and buds, that I hope will flower, and perfume

a world of gardens, a shard of Eden, maybe sealed with her kiss.

The Silence In The Sky

I built a world around you,

               The silence in the sky,

               The girl that came to earth

               For a time in the last summer.

 

               You touched my face,

               And kissed me so softly,

               And lit the sun again,

               As the winter came again.

 

               I keep a place for you,

               In memory and devotion,

               Of all the wonders shown,

               And all the love you gave.

 

               I look to the stars at night,

               As you are an angel in heaven,

               And I’m still her in flesh and blood,

               Wanting to know holy light once more.

 

               I keep the place for you,

               Keep it tended and bright,

               To hold onto the light of you,

               The glory of the sky above.

Ellie

Dark blue hoodie, teal beanie for your favorite hockey team,

               Flex your bare fingers against the cold, your breath raspy mist.

 

               January bitter and dark, as we walk home from the hockey game.

               We pass the time in silence and crushed snow, light of stars unkissed.

 

               So tiny and thin. My dad called you Thumblina when we we’re dating.

               I think of myself as your champion, but it was you who pulled the sword.

              

               We stopped at a little Chinese place, talk a little, laugh some, warm up.

               Thumblina casted out Satan with a Sacred Steel, in the name of her Lord.

 

               Drinking hot coffee, hissing at it’s heat, still far off in your soft, sorrowful eyes.

               I touch your hand, and you squeeze back, and give me a smile, like dawn returning.

 

               A night out and now in this quiet, the roar of past troubles fades like thunder

               I kiss your cheek, kiss it again, finding the light is the path we’re always learning.

Sentry Duty

The rain and the cold, my fatigues soaked straight through.
Hours and hours until daybreak, and another solder to relieve me.

My fingers shiver, my teeth chatter, I hold my rifle close, stare into the night.
I’ve been here so long, such dreadful time, and it feels I’ll be here forever.

 Thoughts of my wife, and a happy, carefree life that is forever lost to me,
fill my head, break my heart, remind me how far I am from love and comfort.
 There are monsters out in this night, who slither and crawl to take us to hell.
Beasts who infect body, mind and soul. Who crush out all that is human and good.
 I must stay, keep the monsters out, I must persevere through this cold and bitterness.
I must stay, and not sit down, close my eyes, and let sleep and nothingness come to me.
 A monster is already in me, wrapping his tail around my mind and heart.
I must fight him, and his brethren, all those damnable things of fear.
 The monster in my head tightens his tail, squeezes all the venom to my thoughts.
The poison sours all the light in me, all the love struggling to light my dreams.
 I think of my wife, tender and loving and kind, with a quick laugh, soft smile.
She waits for me like I wait for morning, for relief and rest, to complete my duty.
 She waits for me, patient and devoted, and I must see her again, hold her again,
not let these monsters take us, take me, take this wonderful and sorrowful world.

She waits for me, my brothers depend on me, I must stay.
Fuck that monster!

Childhood Heroine

Soledad lay on the couch, feverish and cold,
watching a show she adored at 8 years old.
Mighty Maid! The Girl of Justice! Princess of Good!
Soledad saw her save the day, heroine of childhood!
The lonely afternoons spent watching a colorful place.
Adventures in a better land, a sweet time and space.
Her own world was broken, and she walked alone,
to school, to the park to dream, to her neglectul home.
Soledad dreamed one day she’d be brave and strong,
that she could help the hurting, make right from wrong.
Soledad dreamed, and thought of a life so wonderful,
full adventures, friends and a boy so devoted and hopeful.
The shouts at night, the sparse cubbards, the sleepless nights.
They would all fade away, scars healed, when she put it all to rights.
Now 18, still stuck, still left behind, sick and trembling in the dark,
she watched Mighty Maid be as pure and innocent as ever, eternal spark.
Soledad wondered if she find her place, make a dent in indifference.
If she could help those like her, or if any would come in her defense.
Mighty Maid flies up into the sky, a heroine touched by the sun.
Was it really cold in this world? For the broken, is there no one?