Elegy

Elegy 1

O, afflict me with your flogging tool;
Try my skin and flesh until, well tested,
forth flows the frothing bloude. For I've
been well bled before, nor was it a wretched

pain, no, not as wretched a pain as this. 

Wrench my heart, my lungs, my intestines;
O, vice, grip tight my stomach between your

ready metal jaws, have your way with this
waste of matter. No further use have I for 

what fills me- if only to prolong this 

existence which mine insufferable mind

has deemed obsolete. Woe! You selfish

ties that hold and bind me to this bloude
soaked earth, the worst that you have

done to me is having made me love you.
Now this hand dispels such worthless 

thoughts, in a journal, once baptized by

princely hands. Those hands, that once
rested upon my shoulder in the manner
to comfort that only shared bloude could

provide. When, many times those hands
formed fists they would beat my body and
limbs, as if to desperately shed himself

of what painful frustrations he could not
speak in the dark drunk night- I saw his

pain, his hurt inside, and I let him conquer

if just to stay alive. I had seen it in his eyes,
heard it in his voice, felt it in his blows.
How horribly he bred such empathy into me,
now I know twas the path to better manhood.

Now, if I shall be a better man, it will be
with his spirit guiding me. Here and now
Such pain I face, so close, I examine it, 

the reactions are that of two predators meeting.

It could, with such ease, render me hopeless
and in that- helpless against its will.
I would be deemed to fall, amongst the

many fallen leaves. Those tender tresses
that give and take the leap; to disintegrate 

would be pure mercy. Though mine 

mind still finds rooms of warmth, for, just
as many fights, there too, were moments,
of such elation shared; moments when those
arms were not in wrath, but they embraced.
Tears now form as I recall how I felt that
life that will never be touched again. Still
as tears form resolute, still does life continue.
Whither? To widen or heal this wound?
From where have you come, sorrow?
Do you not see this life? This beautiful life?
Defiant, my eyes make love with beauty.
Life makes through the suffering, love-

I have hope, I have pain, thus far not one
prevails above the other. He has left us,
he has left me; with fancy gadgets, smart
shoes, boots in agony. Suddenly every
'If only' becomes a burden. Never again
will his flesh fill this clothing. He has left
me with video games and a denim pouch
full of .38 special rounds, but one bullet
is missing. I now have a pocket knife with
'Courage' engraved upon it. These relics
were made by machines, someone somewhere
pressed that tiny cartridge that stole a soul
from me. So now I am left, to watch this
world. I watch you so able, yet so stubbornly

unwilling; fools, you are that sow woe for

petty pleasure and hollow accolades. 

This is your time, these are your people-

do not let them fade or be lost in the darkness
embrace them and fill them with color,
lift yourself to lift others, and always remember
to outrun the bullet.