PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The smiling boy, with the ready grin and a twinkle lit within his eye,
giving you anything with one hand, robbing himself blind with the other to do so,
your smile his only desired payment, appreciation, a coin seldom shared,
a coin, desired above any.

His smiles grow dimmer, each one costing that much more, the world keeps taking from him,
the love of a sincere heart, thanked with laughter or scorn, much like a scabby whore,
those eyes don't twinkle so bright, anymore, ice often taints the dark blue and a heart,
grows colder.

He circles the familiar void, the sinkhole of sanity, of hope, spinning 'round and 'round,
gazing down in to a place, below rock bottom and he grows weary of resisting the inevitable.

So much easier to fall down than stand up and bear the weight of it all,
just for a little while, curl up and hide away, just to rest, for a little while,
his weary soul.

And so I sway selfish and smiling, and careful above all the people,
from such lofty heights, on a cross, crucified by expectation,
smiling still, laughing at a joke that was never very funny,
and yet the biggest joke of all.

Tears burn tracks of understanding,
across a face grown comfortable with confusion,
enlightenment its own form of damnation.

The sinkhole swallows him, no one is there to hear his scream,
as it was only ever heard inside his mind, not something he wished,
to burden others with, it still hurt that no one ever really noticed.

Some years go by and he spends them, trapped inside a self created hell,
governed by disillusionment and sealed within a cage of self doubt and self hatred,
raging at the injustice of things, raging to avoid feeling everything else that would've hurt,
so much more.

A quiet rage, that he buried so very deeply, hid behind his smiling eyes,
lest someone discover his secret.

He learned to hide in plain sight, and grew to be so very good at lies,
as he lived one every day, the grandest of all, making everyone around him believe,
that he was fine, flesh all healed and smiling again, jokes flowing freely once more.

So they believed and he was thankful that they couldn't see his mind,
riven through with cracks, fractured and his soul all but unraveled,
held together with spit and twine, and the inability to completely fail those,
who loved him best.

So he smiled, to make you believe.

He laughed, to see you smile.

And all the while, he continued to die, a little more inside.

And so I sway selfish and smiling, and careful above all the people,
from such lofty heights, on a cross, crucified by expectation,
smiling still, laughing at a joke that was never very funny,
and yet the biggest joke of all.

And he laughed, so you wouldn't see him cry,
he laughed, to hide the sound of his mind breaking,
he laughed, to cover the shaking in his hands,
he laughed, as every dream was taken.

So he laughed.

He began to listen to the music, that would change his life,
words expressed so expressively, words that could have been his own,
these words were the emotions, his shame wouldn't let him express,
these words, were the pain, he never allowed himself to feel,
these words, brought on the tears he hated so much,
these words, began cleansing a soul coated in pain.

One day, his words began demanding, expression,
so he took to writing them down, in a suede covered journal,
given to him by a beautiful woman, with a heart of even greater beauty,
a nurse as it happens and the very first thing he ever really wrote, was hers.

She would later read it with a girl friend at home, they both would cry over his words,
spoken from a heart of such sincerity.

And so I sway selfish and smiling, and careful above all the people,
from such lofty heights, on a cross, crucified by expectation,
smiling still, laughing at a joke that was never very funny,
and yet the biggest joke of all.

Years go by, little by little he has managed to cobble together,
a mostly stable mind and a beautiful soul, the ashes of his dreams,
used as fertilizer to nurture further potential, and so he tries.

He tries, once again putting his heart of sincerity to use, being used,
using, losing and failing time and again, falling time and again,
each time, that much harder to get back up from, each time,
heart a little more jaded, each time his smile grows a little more faded.

One days, he wakes to find himself spinning, 'round and 'round,
a too familiar void, looming and within he sees his ending,
knowing if he falls into it again, there will be no recovery.

So he watches, from a place of further experience, with a soul more world weary,
he watches and he contemplates.

The sweet seduction of not caring, gently beckons, promising to make the pain simply,
fade away.

He longs to stop hurting, every day is painful, a multitude of ways.

A promise of belonging, the equality of nothingness, equal one and all as all are none.

He no longer fits in this world, this time, his values seemingly obsolete and his heart,
his mind, his soul, lost and often alone, home being on the outside looking in.

But this oblivion would spell an end to everything, and he would leave a hole,
in the lives of those who love him so.

And so I sway selfish and smiling, and careful above all the people,
from such lofty heights, on a cross, crucified by expectation,
smiling still, laughing at a joke that was never very funny,
and yet the biggest joke of all.

 He decides to fight. 

Hope becomes his greatest self indulgence, the keys to his mind and heart,
thrown into the universe, not trusting them in his own keeping, losing them in hopes,
someone else will be finding, the way to his last remaining treasures, no longer keeping faith,
in half assed measures.

Smiles grow meaningful again, eyes still hold the shadow of things best never seen,
reflections of scars never forgotten, of the losses branded handprint by handprint,
upon a soul time worn and pitted, that still manages to shine.

And he waits.
And he hopes.

He waits hopefully, hoping that as his eyes rove across crowded book stores and coffee shops,
down the street, down the side walk to find eyes that are familiar in a stranger's face, eyes that,
have seen the shadows, lurking within us all, eyes, that can forgive him his many falls.

And he waits. . .

He hopes.

And so I sway selfish and smiling, and careful above all the people,
from such lofty heights, on a cross, crucified by expectation,
smiling still, laughing at a joke that was never very funny,
and yet the biggest joke of all.