Not Knowing

I don't know what to say.

I'm a bit confused.

I love you, I know that.

I have for a long time.

I don't know what that means though

Before, i always had a story to tell

Some fabulous future to run towards

Perhaps grow tired of not reaching.

Or,

appreciating a "Now" that slowly grows stale

Like a garden without imaganation.

This ache is the result of many beatings

self administered, like injections

By some crazed junkie.

So for truth, for any knowing to come

I have to be quiet, or at least try to be still

In my murmurings, I will write myself sane

Knowing your there, on your own journey

Shining brighter each day

We burn.

Life

When touched I usually run
Especially when I think I hurt
Before I even know if it does
I’m running away from life

Trying to slow the reaction down
I breathe through a throat grown tight
Into a chest frozen with fear of unease
opaque over decades of cold facts

However the sun is warm, & I have many chances
Every day to go out and thaw, a little at a time
This ice that has grown around my heart
The fire there is warm, in an icehouse
I once called love, I know now, simply is.

...

...

The Mirror

I’m always scrying
For the past or the future
Never looking into this moment
I miss my life

The past pulls with such violence
My own anger at others
Reflected rage at myself
Internalized rejection of a child
Grown into destructive patterns in the world
This gut wrenching grief
Again and again
Releasing into Joy?

I don’t know
I’m too confused
Just grateful for some movement
The constipation of suffering
Finally beginning to loosen
In the grace given rain of compassion

This Mourning depression

This Mourning depression

The perceived absence of life

Another gray day in purgatory

I know it is far from the hell most live in

I step into the role of torturer

So quickly, gracefully even

I raise the flail and strike harshly in offering to this pain It seems god has given me to awake from.

“You are alone, no-one loves you, you will die here, alone, by my hand miserable”

As I gasp and sob my first morning breaths, wondering whether to call for help

I despair to ever be free from this silly, contrived prison of depression, antique pain and

Antiquated fantasies of suicide that are a habitual response to solitude.

As I cry my anger of being alone, I attempt to lower the nexus of the sobs

Deepen the pitch of my own pain to something appropriate to a man almost 50

Yet as I stop resisting my feelings, they shift and the sodden gray day

Lightens to tarnished silver that I might, somehow polish.

WCW

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Ohh Mommy

Why did you leave Me?

How dare you ?

When you were not even barely here?

I’m so fucking mad.

All this emptiness is your absence

Dad’s was minor by comparison.

I’m tired of forgiving you, being understanding.

Fuck your career. You children need you

Not some therapy or concepts of growth or healing

Leave your anger with dad there and embrace your children.

I know that you can’t. And I grieve that as well.

Always this rage that I am the victim of a victim of a victim

That was the perpetrator. Where else but here now

Can I end this horrid fucking chain of grief?

I just want it all to die

Now.

Be over. Be accepted. Be healed.

Embraced finally as god. Or fact.

An opportunity just to be with this heartbreak

The one at the beginning, in the garden

From our mother

The earth.

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copyright ward c williams

The Bell

The Bell

Ring the bell
It’s an invitation,

he said,

You rang it in beauty, your nature revealed.

Now I invite the bell to reveal what is:

My heart torn asunder.
I stumble as I attempt to prostrate myself
In surrender to this emptiness, broken sobs,
Vomit out of a choked throat. Nothing,
Never anything, but this, but this
Empty essence.

Desire and Aversion have ruined me
I want only refuge in you.
But that is not here she says
Go back, go back,

Ring the bell Die to this

Die to this.


7/23/2007

Fire

This crucible only makes gold

Yes, I have silver and copper

In abundance the market is full of tin.

But here, only gold, is made.

Again and again it is refined mercilessly

Releasing all that is impure, and untrue

Why do I complain, I am only being improved

By the merciless hand that I love.